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$B    573   333  • 

THE  VE 

AND     OTHER     POEMS 

BY 

LENORE    CROUDACE 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Gl  FT    OF 


Class 


THE  OPENING  VISTA 

and  Other  Poems 


BY 


LEIIXIORE:  CROUDACE: 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in   the  year    1907,  By 

Lenore  Croudace  in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress, 

at  Washington. 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 
The  Pacific  Goldsmith,  Publishers 

1508  Ellis  Street 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS 


DEDICATION:  The  Spirit    of  Tragedy- 
THE  OPENING  VISTA  :  A  Tragedy  - 
THE  SPELL  OF  BRONZE:  A  Tragedy  - 
THE  KING'S  GOAL:  A  Tragedy-      - 


Uh'IV 

V 

THE 

SPIRIT  OP  TRAGEDY 


Although  the  morning  sky  is  azure  clear, 
Unruffled  by  a  wind  or  wandering  cloud, 

There  hovers  in  the  calm  a  sense  of  fear, 
As  if  to  sudden  death  the  morn  were  vowed. 

The  surface  of  the  sapphire  arching  dome, 

Seems  puckered  as  if  it  longed  to  cry  its  pain, 

In  accents  fainter  than  the  breath  of  foam, 
Yet  strong  enough  to  shake  man's  tallest  fane. 

What  dread  thing  lurks  behind  the  pearly  gates, 
Whose  loftiness  our  peering  gaze  defies? 

Does  Beauty  beckon  while  Hatred  waits 
And  tottering  heart  of  feeble  man  descries? 

Onward  it  comes  with   soft,  yet  giant  feet, 

The  Spirit  of  the  mighty  sons  of  woe, 
And  who  of  you  will  dare  to  fly,  retreat, 

When  Tragedy  swoops  with  pinions  crouching  low? 

It  is  War  that  rages  rampant  o'er  the  world, 
Unfurling  battle  flags  in  crimson  dyed, 

While  shrinking  men  in  cannon's  mouths  are  hurled, 
And  cowards  low  their  quivering  figures  hide. 

And  in  its  gorgeous  train  of  filmy  black, 
The  Spirit  brings  dark  Ignorance  abashed, 

All  ready  to  withstand  the  foe's  attack, 

Yet  helpless,  blind  on   broken  mirrors   dashed. 

Now  Love  and  Hate  in  deadly  duel  set, 

With  horrid  malice  tear   each  other's   eyes, 

'Until  they  seem  in  ugliness  so  met, 

No  difference  in  their  face  the  heart  espies. 

A  whisper  on  the  silent,  boding  air, 

Leers  forth  a  cruel  thought  like  poisoned  breath, 
And  says  these  two  but  one  sad  image  bear, 

That  Love  and  Hate  confused,  are  one  in  death. 

The  Spirit  walks  abroad  in  potent  thrill, 

With  garlands  of  jetty  crepe  to  bind  the  land, 

While  joyous  voices  turn  to  accents  shrill, 

And  here  and  there  a  corpse  waves  bony  hand. 

3 

i  r*  rr  f\  I-*  m 


But  more  than  all  the  Spirit  brings  grim  fear, 
The  fright  that  can  abash  the  strongest  heart, 

When  powers  of  the  unseen  dark  are  near, 
And  curtains  of  the  night  so  strangely  part. 

What  flame  glows  brilliant  in  that  house  far  north? 

Does  fire  allure  to  make  us  more  insane? 
It  is  just  a  ray  from  dazzling  sun  come  forth, 

To  shine  resplendent  on  a  window  pane. 

In  the  very  shimmer  of  the  torrid  day, 

There  seems  a  chance  for  things  unknown  to  leap, 
And  slaughter  all  along  the  flowery  way, 

With  forces  won  from  Heaven's  unfathomed  deep. 

Cold  Vengeance,  Murder  and  ugly  hidden  crime, 

Are  toys  the  Spirit  hangs  upon  its  arm, 
While  with  the  stroke  direct  of  the  Grecian  prime, 

It  hurls  abroad  the  arrows  of  alarm. 

Dim  Doubt,  downcast  with  palsy  of  the  will, 
Creeps  through  the  morning's  blaze  of  heavenly  light, 

While  glides  triumphant  through  the  waters  still, 
The  ship  of  gold  fast  sailing  towards  the  night. 

Pinched,    cramping    Hunger    mocks     where   greed     abounds, 

Great  seas  of  richest  cream  to  him  denied, 
Who  sits  amid  the  dreary  graveyard  mounds, 

The  Spirit's  slave,  by  cold  starvation  tried. 

And  oh  the  moan  that  rings  in  every  ear, 

For  the  things  that  never  were  and  could  not  be, 

The  Spirit  lives  for  you  and  me,  my  dear, 
And  all  the  joy  we  lost  without  a  key! 


VI^TA-a  tragedy 

CHARACTERS. 

Dresda  Winrising,  a  young  girl. 

Jocelyn  Stanhope,  a  middle-aged  man,  student  in  a  theolog 
ical  seminary. 

Basil  Lindsay,  a  roue.' 

Ethel  Coles,  Dresda's  friend. 

Zenobia    Rodney,   a   middle-aged    society    widow. 

Fldred  Merivale,  a  young  man  in  love  with  Dresda. 

Frank  Merivale,  his  brother,  in  love  with  Ethel. 

SCENES. 

ACT       I. — A  public  square  in  North  Berkeley,  with  a  foun 
tain,  benches  and  flower  beds. 
ACT     II  —The  Yosemite  Valley  in  Spring. 
ACT  III. — The  mountain  of  thorns  in  Berkeley  canyon. 
ACT  IV. — The  same  as  Act  I. 
Time:     The  present. 

ACT   I.     SECENE   I. 

(A  public  square  in  North  Berkeley,  California.  The  hills 
of  the  coast  range  mountains  are  seen  in  the  background.  It 
is  a  late  afternoon  in  the  early  Autumn,  the  whole  scene 
being  bathed  in  vivid  sunlight.  Dresda  Winrising,  a  young 
girl,  is  discovered  as  the  curtain  goes  up  gazing  with  an 
expression  of  rapt  intensity  at  the  hills.) 

DRESDA.     Just  twenty-one  today,  my  childhood  gone, 
My  youth  not  yet  commenced,  I  stand  alone. 
Behind  me  just  the  plain  of  student  days, 
Before,  I  know  not  what.     My  heart  thumps  loud 
With  questions,  hopes  and  fears,  with  throbbing  dreams. 
As  a  child  I  yearned,  the  realm  of  fairyland 
To  invade,  my  fancy  dwelling  ever  there. 
My  teachers  robbed  me  o  fthat  conjured  view 
Of  caves  of  gold,  and  mazy  sprites  with  wings. 
But  still  deep-down  in  some  remote  brain-cell, 
I  believed  the  day  would  come  when  I  should  see  them, 
And  should  perhaps  have  magic  of  my  own. 
And  then  by  science  led  on  distant  trails, 
I  thought  to  find  some  strange  revealing  new, 
Of  powers  of  the  earth  ana  air,  of  life 
In  lowly  forms  of  bug  and  beast  and  bird. 
That  passed,  I  knew  myself  by  far  too  small 
To   attain   a   chemist's  mystic   victory, 
Or  to  ally  myself  with  Nature's  host. 
Then  slowly  dawning  on  my  opening  youth, 
There  burst  the  vision  of  my  life  to  be, 
All  thronged  with  men  of  great  renown  far-famed, 


With  lovely  women  clustering  by  my  side, 

Of  a  knowledge  kingdom  I  must  win,  and  love 

That  would  come   whispering,   fluttering   to   my   side. 

Beyond  those  hills,  whose  hay  just  cut  and  burnt, 

Is  colored  in  the  sun  like  gold  smoke-dimmed, 

A  land  of  wonder  waits  and  calls  for  me. 

It  pulls  upon  me  with  a  tug  so  strong, 

It  seems  ten  thousand  strands  of  iron  combined, 

Have  tunnelled   through   the   mountain's   base   to   wrench 

My  inner  heart  from  its  safe  resting-place. 

Like  a  promised  toy  to  a  lonely,  wistful  child, 

The  hidden  land  I  cannot  see,  is  sweet, 

So   sweet,   its   poignant   ecstasy    strikes   home, 

And   pierces   to   my   very    soul   of   souls. 

Why  there  the  silk  pavilions  flower-entwined, 

Float,  in  a  breeze  that  breathing,  soft  perfumed, 

Is  like  a  lullably  to  tired  ears. 

The  eye  of  every  man  and   woman  there, 

Is  sparkling  with  a  light  like  captured  flame, 

That  glows  in  myriad  rays  of  precious  stones. 

There  is  a  call  within  my  brain  to  climb 

Above  the  topmost  crest  of  all,  at  once 

To  see  what  waits  for  me.     I  must  begin. 

(Enter  Basil  Lindsay.) 

DRESDA.     My  dream  has  gone  again,  I  must  stop  and  talk, 
To  this  man  though  he  would  never  understand 
My  thoughts,  he  is  so  old,  and  wicked  too. 
Mr.   Lindsay,   good   afternoon. 

BASIL.     Fair  maid. 

Good  day.     Why  do  you  strain  your  pretty  eyes 
By  looking  at  those   hills?     Bereft   of  green, 
They  are  a  chilling  sight,   like  luckless   men 
When  magic  love  deserts   them,  growing  hard 
And  rocky,  bald  and  bitter.     Is  it  not  so?- 

DRESDA.     I  do  not  see  the  lulls  alone  but  more 
Than   you    would   ever   dream,   the   other    side. 
Have   you   been   there? 

BASIL.     Beyond  the  hills,  you  mean? 

DRESDA.     Why,  yes,  don't  laugh. 

BASIL.     I    returned    but    yesterday. 

DRESDA.     Oh,   tell   me   if  I    dreamed   aright,   if  joy 

Enthroned  makes   endless   revel  over  there? 

BASIL   (shaking  his  head.)     There  is  a  valley,  like  many 
others  here; 

The  shadow  from  the  mountain  heavily  falls, 
And  makes  the  country  cold  and  damp ;   the  trees 
Grow  small  and  stunted,  while  weeds  are  everywhere. 

DRESDA.     And  the  people  are  not  gay? 

BASIL.     Oh,   yes,   they're   gay, 

6 


But   not  with  joy  divine  like  (hat  you  feel. 

Their  gayety  to  me  is  somber,  sad, 

Without  the  hue  of  morning's  rosy  blush. 

Some  day   perhaps   you'll   see   yourself, — you'll   come 

With  me,  together  we  can  move  in  tune, 

Or  you  will  lend  a  lighter  tread  to  me. 

DRESDA.     I  think  you  need  new  glasses  for  your  eyes, — 
A  jaundice  seems  to  have  settled  on  your  view, 
And  even  if  I  showed  you  Paradise, 
I  fear  you'd  curl  your  lip,  grimace  and  spurn 
The  offering. 

BASIL. ,   Perhaps    not.     Show    me    right    now 
Your  Paradise,  I  will  respond  with  glee. 

DRESDA.     Why  I  can  have  no  Paradise  to  show, 
I  spoke  in  metaphor.     I  know  but  books, 
The  lessons  given   me  to  learn,  no   more. 

BASIL.     Just    there,   I    find    your    Paradise,   sweet   maid. 
The  foolish   books  could  teach  you   little  truth, 
And  so,  like  an  angel  from  another  sphere, 
You  come  to  learn  our  sordid  ways  of  earth. 
You  think  it  bright  and  brilliant  as  your  robe 
That  glistens  with  gems  from  heaven's  diadem. 
Oh!  let  me  run  to  catch  that  thought  of  yours, 
And   I  will   ask  no  other  gift  or  boon. 

DRESDA.     You   think    that   I   am   jus     a   silly   girl, 
Moon-struck,   perchance,  without   a  bit   of  sense. 
And  if  I  go  with  you  beyond  the  hills, 
Shall  I  be  wise  and  learn  what  books  conceal? 

BASIL.     I  could  not  teach  you  wisdom,  but  I'll  try 
To  guide  you  just  a  little  way  o'er  earth, 
And  if  you  do  not  fear  the  ugly  things, 
There  is  many  a  novel  sight  to  greet  your  eye; 
The  realm  of  vice  without  a  veil  you'll  see, 
Men   you   will   find   like   demons   on   the  path 
Of  gamboling  lambs,  unconscious  of  their   doom. 
It  will   be  a  fair  exchange,  your  fragrant   youth, 
For   my   sad   wisdom    of   the    sinning    world. 
Now  are  you  ready? 

(Enter  Jocelyn  Stanhope.     He  is  a  man  of  forty-three,  with 
a  strikingly  beautiful  face  of  the  ascetic  type.) 

JOCELYN.     What's    that    I   hear    you    say? 
Where   would    you   lead    the   heart    of   this   youg    girl? 

BASIL.     It  is   no  affair  of  yours,   why   should   you   ask? 

JOCELYN.     Miss  Winrising  is  my  friend,  that's  all. 

BASIL.     Your  friend?     And  why  not  mine?     Is  she  in  leash? 
Hold  you  the  single  cord  that  fetters  her? 

JOCELYN.     No,  no.     I  am  but  distant  guard  to  her; 
With   sword  unsheathed,   just   ready  for  a   fray, 
I  stand  upon  the  ramparts  of  the  fort 
That  protects  her  innocence  from   foes  like  you. 


BASIL  (angrily.)     You  mean  you  are  a  prying  parson  pert, 
Who  meddles  everywhere  with  unwelcome  zeal. 
A  man  who  at  your  age  begins  to  find 
No    calling   but   the    church,    to    my    mind,   has   failed. 

DRESDA.     I   cannot   bear   to  hear   you   talk  that   way. 
Mr.  Stanhope  is  so  good  and  learned. 

JOCELYN    (to  Dresda.)     Don't  you  take  part  in  this   dis 
cussion    sharp. 

I  1  new  before  the  world  I  stand  accused 
Of  lazy  dreams;    they  say  I  seek  a  couch 
Of  ease  in  the  bosom  of  the  Christian  faith. 
Believe  me,  Miss  Winrising,  it  is  not  true. 
I  trod  for  years  the  weary  way  of  law; 
With  silvering  hair  I  plodded  through  the  courts, 
And  wasted  life  in  technical   despair. 
I  felt  condemned  to  live  on  pickles  sour, 
To  see  forever  but  the  sordid  side 
Of  men  dist  raught  by  petty  cares  and  wants. 
With    heart    that   hungered    for    beatitude, 
A   thrist.   for   work    untouched    by    vulgar   price, 
In  search  of  an  inspiration  or  desire 
Just  touched  with  hope  as  the  western  sea  is  rimmed, 
With  shimmering  gold  by  the  sun  one  moment  poised 
Ere  it  sinks  beyond  the  verge,  I  came  here  to  study. 

DRESDA.     I  think  your  thought  the  rarest  I  have  heard. 

BASIL.     And  thus  a  parson  always  wins  the  hearts 
Of  women,  while  better  men  are  left  behind. 
I  leave  you  to  his  preaching  for  a  while, 
Mise;  Winrising, — I  will  return  to  you. 

(Exit   Basil.) 

JOCELYN.     Did   you   know   the   church   was   held   in   such 
poor  esteem? 

DRESDA.     I   don't  see  why, — it  is   the  noblest  work. 

JOCELYN.     It    is    noble    if    the    preacher   makes    it    so. 
A  man  must  be  much  more  than  man  you  see, 
To  live  upon  the  neight  that  God  commands. 
He  must  forswear  all  wishes  of  the  heart, 
Must   die   to   selfish   happiness   or   love. 
So  few  can  mount  this  steep  ascent,  so  few 
Give  forth  a  radiance  from  the  soul. 
The  others  fail,  and  look  absurd,  you   see. 

DRESDA.     How  great  it  is  to  oe  one  who  does  not  fail, — 
To  be  one  like  you  to  spread  a  truth  divine! 

JOCELYN.     And  are  you  sure  that  I  am  picked  to  win? 
Why,  as  you  speak,  there  creeps  an  eerie  fear 
Upon  my  still  too  human  heart.     I  shiver 
As  if  a  ghostly  hand  had  touched  my  head, 
A  ghostly  voice  were  singing  in  my  ear, 
Recalling  me  to  a  youth  I  never  felt, 
Like  a  Circe  tempting  when  tempation  is  worst, — • 

-8 


But    I    weary    you    with    such    imaginings. 

Let    us    speak   of   something   else,   your   plans. — 

DRESDA.     Oh,  yes. 

I  long  and   long  and  long  to  travel  far, 
Beyond  the  hills,  to  something  new  and  bright. 
Sometimes  it  seems  for  very  longing's  strain, 
I  could  lift  my  feet  from  their  hold  upon  the  ground, 
And  light  as  a  summer  swallow  eastward  swing, 
Flying  through  the  air  above  all  human  kind. 
If  I  could  see  the  world  like  that,  it  would 
Betray  a  wonder  more  wonderful   sublime 
Than  any  yet  beheld  by  tourist  keen. 

JOCELYN  (tenderly.)     And  if  you  could  in  this  sweet  way 
defy 
The   laws   of   Nature,   would   you   remember   me? 

DRESDA  (recoiling  slightly.)     Why,  yes,  I  would  remember 
all  my  friends. 

But   then  I   thought   you   said   you  could  not  care, 
For  any  friendship  of  the  human  kind? 

JOCELYN    (sighing.)     And   would   it   be   a   theft   from   Al 
mighty  God 

To   follow   you   in    flight   aerial   far? 
Or  would  not  my  purpose  gain  a  greater  height 
In  the  silvery  white  perspective  of  your  eyes, 
So  new  to  life,  and  all  its  dim  inwindings, 
They  hang  their  own  rich  gauze  of  royal  blue 
Upon    the    darkest    and    most    barren    sight? 

DRESDA.     Both  you  and  Mr.  Lindsay  make  me  vain, 
It  really  feels  a  little   strange,  you  know, 
To  hear  you  talk  to  me  as   if  I  were, 
Well— as  if  I  were— 

(Enter   Zenobia   Rodney.     She   is   a  handsome  middle-aged 
widow  of  the  brunette  type.) 

ZENOBIA.     The  same  age  as  he. 

(Dresda    and   Jocelyn    start   and   turn    to   greet   Zenobia.) 

ZENOBIA  (to  Jocelyn.)     You  seem  to  find  great  pleasure  in 
the   child. 

It  is  true  she  is  a  clever  little  girl, 
But  one  of  your  pretensions  and  great  aims 
Should   find  his   level   in  a   cultured   field; 
A  widow  perhaps  like  me  could  wield  a  lance 
Against  a  man  so  daring  and  so  bold 
He  tries  to  hold  in  outstretched  greedy  palm 
The   spheres  of  earth  and  heaven  by  him  encompassed; 
Who  not  content  to  shine  in  legal  garb 
Must  add  the  cleric's  saintly  robes  of  white, 
WTho  gives  the  virtues  of  his  middle  age, 
To  obliterate  a  youth  in  folly  spent. 

JOCELYN.     You  wrong  me  there,  I  had  no  foolish  youth, 
I  strained  and  struggled  through  the  toiling  years 


Without  reward.     And  now  I  seek  a  field 
Wherein  to  teach  my  deepest  thought  on  life, 
And  all  the  pain  and  stress  it  brings  the  best 
Of  men  in  this  puzzle-box  of  rocky  earth, 
I  meet  derision  everywhere. 

DRESDA.     That's  true! 

Why  every  one  delights  to  pounce  on  you! 
Not   one   applauds    your   noble,   glorious   aim. 

ZENOBIA.     My  dear,  you  are  beyond  your  depth  with  him, 
Leave  me  to  probe  that  lofty   dome  of  thought, 
And   dream  of   conquest  o'er  the  human   soul. 

(Exit   Dresda.) 
And  now  she  has  gone  we  can  talk  with  frank  attack — 

JOCELYN.     Attack?     You  talk  as  if  we  were  at  war, 
An    Amazon    in   armor   of   cut    steel, 
Unprovoked  you  charge  at  my  defenseless  head, 
And  thrust  your  cruel  rapier  in  my  face. 

ZENOBIA  (laughing.)     At  war?     Of  course  we  are  at  war 
and   worse; 

If   you   had   trod   as   long   as   I    the   path 
Of  fashion,  you  would  know  that  war  with  gun  and  sword, 
Is  an  affair  of  mirth  contrasted  with  the   fight, 
We   daily   make   with   wits   and   nerves   and — hearts. 

JOCELYN.     I  grant  you  that.     I  have  seen  it  so  in  law. 
But   why    make   war   on   me? 

ZENOBIA.     You    aim   too   high; 
Would  win  the  mighty  influence  a  priest 
Has    held    his    own    through    history's    stormy    way; 
Would   wield    the    spiritual   power   against   our   fret 
Of  unbelief,  and  pining  for  a  guide. 

JOCELYN.     And  you  would  wish  me  on  a  lower  grade! 

ZENOBIA.     I  would  wish  you  on  a  lower  grade  than  that 
You  held  some  moments  since,  your  head  inclined 
To  Dresda's  girlish  fancy.     I  warn  you  now, 
She  is  not  for  you. 

JOCELYN.     I   protest!     You   misunderstand,— 
She  was  talking  with  a  roue, — I  interposed, — • 

ZENOBIA.     Oh,   yes,  an  excellent  excuse,  you   mean, 
Poor  Basil  Lindsay, — there  is  nothing  there  to  fear, 

His   reputation   and   his   blase   air 
Would    keep    her    horrified    from    him    afar, 
While  your  appeal  is  subtle   sweet   to  lure 
A  lovely  girl   to  trust, — and   ruin   too. 

JOCELYN  (angrily.)     Mrs.  Rodney! 

ZENOBIA.     Your   anger    is   well   feigned. 
Come  walk  a  little  while  with  me;   we'll  chat 
Of  law  and  war, — 

JOCELYN.     I  disclaim  your  right  to  question 
My  motives  or  my  life,  but  will  not  refuse 
A  little  further  chat  with  you. 

10 


(Exit  Jocelyn  and  Zenobia.     Enter  Ethel  Coles  and  Frank 
Merivale.) 

ETHEL.     Look    there! 
The  widow  ha"   the  parson  in  her  snare! 

FRANK.     She   is  a  stunning   type,  of  foreign  birth 
And  education  I  should  think.     Do  you  know? 

ETHEL.     She  will  not  look  my  humble  way  at  all; 
In  fact,  she  is  so  haughty  and  so  grand, 
I   wonder   that  she   makes   this  town  her  home. 
She  conies  from  some  great  city  of  the  world, 
Looks    like    a    Russian    duchess    in    disguise, 
A    woman    steeped    in    diplomatic    lore, 
Who  has  lived  at  courts  with  princes  for  her  fools. 

FRANK.     That    sounds    immense, — I'll   keep    from   out  her 
path, 

I  have  no  taste  for  women  of  her  age. 
Give    me    a   pretty    girl    like    you, — content 
I  would  take  to  cottage  life  in  a  country  town. 
Oh,  won't  you  give  your  promise  now?     It's  hard 
To  think  so  long  of  one   dear  girl  and   yet 
To  be  uncertain,  held  in  long  suspense. 

ETHEL  (coquetting  and  dimpling.)     Well,  you  know  I  love 
you  best  of  all, — 

And  some  day  of  course  I  will  be  your  wife,  but  wait 
A  little,  let  me  have  some  girlish  fun. 

FRANK.     But  if  you  loved  me  that  would  be  enough. 
I  think  you  try  to  mimic  Miss  Winrising. 

ETHEL.     I    don't!     For   she   is    cold   as   northern   snows, 
With  no  eye  for  any  man.     She  does  not  flirt 
And  does  not  even  know  your  brother's  love. 

FRANK.     Alas!    poor  Eldred  is  quite  mad  for  her, 
Calls  out  her  name  at  night  in  tortured  sleep, 
And  writes  her  silly  verses  through  the  day. 

ETHEL,     'laughing.)     And  has  he  the  cottage  plan  as  well 
as   you? 

FRANK.     Why   not?     You   think   she  is  maybe   too   rare? 
My  brother  is  a  handsome  man  and  good. 
He  has  a  chance  to  make  a  name.     His  friends 
May   help   him   in   his   architectural   course, — 

ETHEL.     Oh,  we  know  all  that,  but  Dresda  is  so  high, 
She  is  a  fay,  elusive  and  so  strange, 
And   then   she  has   so   many   guardians! 

FRANK.     So   many   guardians? 

ETHEL.     I   tell   too   much. 

Remember  I  am  not  yet  your  wife, — not  yet, — 
I  think  I'll  keep  my  secrets  to  myself. 

FRANK.     So    coy!     I'll    snatch    a    kiss    while    we're    alone. 

(Bends  over  her  and  kisses  her.) 
So  there  we  are  engaged  for  good  and  all. 

ETHEL.     Nonsense!     What   is  a  kiss? 

11 


(Enter    Eldred.) 

ELDRED.     Do    I    intrude? 

FRANK.     Not  now,  the  thing  is  done, — my  wife  to  be, — 

ETHEL.     I'll    be   his    wife    unless,    unless,    unless, — 

FRANK.     She's  all  pretense,  I  know  she  likes  a  kiss. 

ELDRED.     Unless? 

ETHEL.     Unless  I  do  not  change  my  mind. 

ELDRED.     I  thought  that  Miss  Winrising  would  be  here. 

FRANK.     You  tell  your  passion  to  the  screaming  world. 

ELDRED.     Don't  you? 

FRANK.     Oh,  yes,  but  Dresda  is  an  image, 
That  is  carved  in  purest,  palest  ivory, — 
A  thing  to  place  within  a  holy  church, 
With  softened  lights  and  incense  but  no  wind. 

ETHEL.     Why  how  you  change!     Just  now  you  were  sur 
prised, 
To   hear   me    say    such    flowery   things   of   her! 

FRANK.     I  took  your  view. 

ETHEL.     My   view?     I   did  not   say 
That   she  was  like  a  vestal  light  while  I 
Was  fit  for  an  open  square  and  kisses  here 
And    there! 

FRANK.     It    seems    I    cannot   please   you    dear, 
In  spite  of  all  my  clumsy,  earnest  striving. 

ELDRED.     Oh,   here    she   is! 

(Enter  Dresda  breathless.) 

DRESDA.     Just  guess  where  I  have  been? 

ELDRED.     Upon  the  hills? 

DRESDA.     Why   yes,   almost   to   the   very   top   and   back; 
Mr.  Lindsay  went  with  me;   we  climbed  so  fast, 
Then  down  we  raced  like  horses  on  a  track. 
I   WON!     Quite   tired  out,  he   ran   for  home, 
But   I  could   race   again.     It   seemed   as   if 
Electric  currents  ran  full-charged  through   all 
My  veins,  as  if  the  ground  beneath  my  feet 
Dissolved,  and  melted  to  a  liquid  fire, 
Through  which  I  had   to  run  to  save  my  life. 

ELDRED    (in    a   tone   of   anguish.)     Oh    God! 

DRESDA.     You    seem    alarmed.     Why    snould    you    be? 

ELDRED  (sulkily.)     Mr.  Lindsay  is  no  friend  for  you,  he's 
bad! 

DRESDA.     I  know;   I  have  heard  he  is  a  shocking  man, 
But  then  he  is  very  nice  to  me,  I  may 
Perhaps  do  him  some  good.     I  liked  the  race, 
If  only  we  had  reached  the  top  and  seen 
The  land  beyond! 

ELDRED.     Won't   you  come  .with  me? 
(Ethel    and    Frank   withdraw   to   one   side.) 

DRESDA   (hesitating.)     Why,  you  are  very  kind,  but  then 
you  see 

12 


I   should   not  go   alone   with   you, — they'd   think, — 

ELDRED.     They'd    think!     And    yet    you    went    with    Basil 
Lindsay! 

DRESDA.     He  is  so  old. 

ELDRED   (mollified.)     That's  true,  and  I  am  young. 
You  are  a  little  shy  of  me,  oh  Dresda, 
Perhaps  I  speak  too  soon,  but  I  choke  with  love, 
My  heart   bounds  and   leaps   like   a  horse  untamed, 
And  will  have  its  way.     Now   don  t  you  love  me  just 
A  little  bit? 

DRESDA  (horrified.)     Love  you?     Oh,  not  at  all. 
I  never  talk  with  you,  but  with  Mister  Stanhope 
Or   Ethel   or — 

ELDRED.     But    love    is    not    made   of   talk. 
Nor  of  clergymen  and  babbling  girls. 
It  is  something  in  the  heart  compelling  you 
Beyond  all  power  to  resist  or  chain. 

DRESDA.     I  am  not  compelled  but  by  that  force 
That   yearns   to  know   and   know   and    evermore 
To  know.     I  want  to  travel  far  and  wide, — 
I  like  to  talk  with  learned  men  and  wise. 

ELDRED.     But  you  would  not  marry  one? 

DRESDA.     Oh  no,  not  yet! 

ELDRED.     Not  yet!    and  danger  lurks 
On  every  side.     You  do  not  seem  to  know 
That   some   one   man   must   claim   you   soon. 

DRESDA.     Why   one? 
When  four  or  five  would  be  a  nicer  choice? 

ELDRED  (desperately.)     My  fate  is  then  to  love  a  girl  of 
moods, 

To  hang  my  heart  in  ribbons  on  her  lyre 
Of  many  strings  where  he  who  comes  may  play 
What  tune  he  will.     It  is  as  if  I  loved 
The  fickle  breeze   that  turns  the  waves  now  east 
Now  west,  indifferent  to  their  broken  crests, 
And  careless  of  the  blows  they   strike,  avenging, 
Upon   the   sunken    sand    and    pebbles   tossed 
Without   control. 

DRESDA.     You    are    so    tragic    mat 
It  makes  me  laugh.     Oh  Ethel, — come  here, — just  think, — 

(Ethel  and  Frank  rejoin  Dresda  and  Eldred.) 
He  says  I  am  a  flirt  and  that  I  have 
A  cruel  heart   and  like  too  many  men. 

ETHEL.     I  just   claimed   you   were   too  cold   to   flirt. 

FRANK.     Oh,    Miss    Winrising,    have   a   heart   for   me! 
For  every  pang  that  Eldred  feels  from  you, 
I   must   suffer   one   from   Ethel's  hands. 
Desist    I    pray   you   or   two    brothers    you 
Will   see,   stretched   out   in   livid,   ghastly   death, 
The   victims   of  a   maiden's   vain   caprice. 

13 


ETHEL.  Oh,  Dresda,  what  a  weight  he  puts  on  you! 
I'll  crawl  beneath  your  wings, — you  take  the  blame 
For  the  strenuous  wrath  of  the  Brothers  Merivale. 

DRESDA    (drawing  herself  up  haughtily.)     I  will   take  no 
blame   or    weight   from    any   one, — 
Why  am  I  not  free  to  take  the  course  I  choose? 
And  must  I  love  the  one  who  gives  me  love? 
I  never  asked   one   jot  of  such   a   gift, 
Nor   ever   wished    it   in   my   inmost   heart. 
How  dare  he  say  that  I  must  love  him  now, 
Or  ever?     The  years  stretch  out  before  my  gaze, 
Like  vast  fields  of  prairie  land  as  yet  unsown. 
It  seems  that  every  step  I  am  to  take 
Will    bring   new   verdure   into   bloom,   will    build 
New  towns  and  on  their  progress  start  a  race 
Of  beings  high   and  fair  with  some  fond  hope 
As  yet  unborn.     Why  should  he  check  me  ere 
I  start? 

Ei  DRED.     You   rave   like   a  witch  with   streaming  hair, 
Instead  of  a  human  girl  of  flesh  and  blood. 
Some  day  you  will  wake  and  find  me  standing  here, 
To  claim  you  for  my  wife.     Such  love  as  mine, 
Fears  not  an  unsown  prairie  land  or  dreams 
Of  Glory  glowing  in   a  youthful   mind, 
Run   riot   in   fantastic   vapors   wild. 
Dresda  girl,  I  love  you, — remember  that. 

(Exit  Eldred.) 

ETHEL.     That  speech  was  almost  like  a  threat,  I  thought. 

FRANK.  Poor  boy,  I  think  he  has  love's  fever  worse 
Than  I. 

ETHEL    (pettishly.)     You  mean  your  love  for  me  is  cool. 

FR^NK.     Miss    Winrising,   what    shall    I    do   with   her? 

DRESDA.     In  vain 

You  appeal  to  me.     I  cannot  read  her  heart, 
When  the  strange  ways  of  my  own  are  unknown  to  me. 

FRANK.     Don't  you  think  a  promise  should  be  kept? 

DRESDA   (dreamily.)     Why  yes,  if  given  in  good  faith. 

ETHEL.     Come  Frank. 
She  does  not  care  to  listen  to  your  woes. 

FRANK  (eagerly.)     Oh,  Ethel,  will  you  climb  the  hill  with 
me? 

ETHEL.     Dresda   said   it  was  a  pleasant   walk. 

(Exit  Frank,  and  Ethel.) 

DRESDA  (alone.)     How  strange  it  is  so  hard  to  go  alone! 
Why  must  they  always  try  to  hinder  me, 
And  hang  about  my  skirts  with  questions  hard? 

(Re-enter  Jocelyn  Stanhope.) 

JOCELYN.     You  look  puzzled,  little  girl,  tell  me  the  prob 
lem. 

DRESDA.     Why   then   I   should  feel   that  I  were  just  like 
them? 

14 


JOCELYN.     Like    them? 

DRESDA.     Oh,   like   the   girls   and    boys   I   know, 
Who  want  me  to  decide  their  quarrels  yet 
Are  angry  if  I  do  not  follow  them. 

JOCELYN  (smiling.)     It  is  too  soon  for  you  to  find  that  life 
Is  not  an  easy  game.     Why  every  day 
I  see  the  tangle  more  deeply  knotted,  tied 
With  finer  threads  of  cord  that  will  not  break. 
The  hairs  of  white  that  silver   o'er  my  head, 
Stand  one  by  one  for  some  new  view  of  pain. 
Why  since  I  saw  you  half  an  hour  ago 
Another  lesson   burnt  into  my  soul. 

DRESDA.     You  learnt  sad  things  from  Mrs.  Rodney,  then? 

JOCELYN.     Well,  yes — and — no — but  we  will  not  speak  of 
that. 

You  are  too  young  to  learn  those  things  yourself. 
You  should  remain  untrammelled  yet  awhile, 
In  the  vast  sheer  atmosphere  of  your  own  dreams. 
I  would  that  I  had  started  towards  the  church 
When  young  like  you  the  vista  opened  out 
Before  my  untried  gaze,  no  cloud   or   doubt 
There  dimming  the  prospect  of  a  love  divine. 
And  now  it  seems  devotion  has  no  worth; 
On  every  side  there  is  a  tug  and  strain, 
An  effort  like  a  siege  in  war  to  tear 
Me  wounded   from   my  high   design   and  hurl 
My  piety  to  wolves  that  feed  on  human  flesh. 

DRESDA   (tenderly.)     There  is  one  who  does  not  feel  like 
that,  you  know. 

It  is  so  easy  to  be  cheap  and  small, 
And  very  hard  to  be  great  and  good  like  you. 
Why,  as  you  speak,  I  seem  to  hear  sweet  chimes 
Of  some  lovely  music  long-lost  to  common  earth; 
And  in  the  pulpit  I  know  that  you  will  draw 
Many  thousands  to  believe  the  thoughts 
You  preach. 

JOCELYN.     My   little   girl,   your   words   are   sweet,— 
I  think  too  sweet  for  a  tired  man  like  me. 

(He  bends,  over  her  looking  into  her  eyes  tenderly.       En 
ter   Basil   Lindsay.) 

BASIL  (sharply.)     I  am  here  quite  ready  for  another  race. 

JOCELYN    (to  Dresda.)     I   beg  your  pardon;    you   wished 
to  speak  to  him? 

DRESDA.     Oh  no,  i  did  not  expect  to  see  him  here. 

BASIL  (to  Dresda.)     I  thought  next  time  we'd  take  a  horse 
back  ride. 

(To  Jocelyn.)     Miss  Dresda  and  I  are  chums  in  the  field  of 
sport. 

JOCELYN.     You  claimed   before  I  interfered,— I'll  go. 

(Excit  Jocelyn.) 

15 


BASIL.     That  was  a  royal  race  we  had  to-day. 

DRESDA.     Oh  yes,  but  I  do  not  want  to  race  again. 
Please  leave  me  now, — I  want  to  be  alone. 

BASIL.     And  are  you   old  enough   to  have  a  mood? 
I  will  go  and  return  when  the  wind  is  again  my   way. 

(Exit    Basil.     The    sky    darkens,    a    lurid    sunset    of    dark 
purple,  indigo  and   flame  tints  comes  on.) 

DRESDA    (alone.)     I  begin  to   lose  my   wish   to  cross   the 
hills, 

How    dark    they    look,    omens    and    ghosts    of   night 
Seen  hidden  in  their  broad  and  round  expanse! 
I  who  had  no  fear  an  hour  since, 
Am   almost  trembling  with  an   unknown  fright. 
Something   strange,   undefined,   bold,   yet   masked, 
Is  spreading  brooding  wingg  above  my  head. 
And  all  my  buoyant  hope  of  lovely  things 
But  turns  into  a  quivering  dread  of  men. 
Why  love,  ecstatic  love  which  poets  sing 
Must  come  into  the  heart  like  a  perfect  song, 
Finding  its  sure  and  noiseless  way  untaught, 
Without  alarm  or  compulsion's  ugly  force. 
And  could  they  make  me  love  at  their  will .' 
Oh  no,  oh  no,   it  will   not   be, — it   can't, — 
And  yet  the  stare  of  those  angry  eyes  burns  through 
My  thoughts.     They  look  the  same,  Eldred  fierce, 
With   all   a   boy's   unreason   and    contempt, 
Mr.   Lindsay   with   I  know  not  what 
Of  evil,  vile  design,  and  Mr.   Stanhope, 
Who  longs  to  have  a  friend.     They  crowd  upon  me, 
As  if  they  aimed  to   steal   my  very  will, 
As  if  they  would  rob  me  of  my  joy  of  life 
And  put  their  clamps  of  iron  on  my  wrists. 
Oh,  is  it  true  I  am  compelled  to  love, 
If  not  one,  why  then  another?     Oh  no,  I  won't! 
Oh  Knowledge,  great  and  good  and  strong  and  true, 
You  be  my  friend  for  now  and  all,  and  teach 
My  heart  to  love   but  you  until   the  day 
The  prince  of  light  breaks  through  my  castle  door, 
And  takes  me  far  away  to  a  home  of  bliss. 

(It  grows  darker  and  there  is  a  sound  of  the  soughing  of 
the  wind  in  the  trees.-  (Dreasda  gives  a  faint  scream  and 
peers  about  her  as  if  some  one  were  lurking  in  the 

shadows. ) 

DRESDA.     I  thought  I  heard  some  steps  behind  my  back, 
An  unseen  legion  seemed  to  stamp  their  feet, 
And  march  upon  me.     There  is  no  one  here, 
No  one  but  the  spectre  of  my  fear, — 
My  friends   would   laugh   to   see    me    so   afraid, 
I  crouch  into  myself  with  craven  dread, 
Because,   oh    vanished   phantom   of   my   dream 

16 


Belause — because — three  men   begin   to   love   me! 
CURTAIN. 

ACT   II. 

(Scene:  the  Yosemite  Valley  the  next  Spring.  The  ver 
anda  of  a  sumptuously  appointed  summer  hotel.  Basil  is  dis 
covered  languidly  sipping  an  iced  drink.  Eirer  Zenobia.) 

ZENOBIA.     How  nice  to  find  a  friend  among  the  guests! 
But    still   I    wonder   that    you    linger   here? 

BASIL.     You  wonder  when  you  hold  yourself  the  key, 
That    gives    to   this    hotel    a    special    charm. 

ZENOBIA.     And  is  that  flattery  hurled  a     my  poor  head? 
Alas!   I   am  not   so  dull,  I  pierce   your  thought, — 
You  do  not  want  to  measure  swords  with  me, 
But    would    rest    your    sated    life    in    morning   glory, 
Would  gain  a  thrill  from  Dresda's   budding  beauty. 

BASIL.     You  speak  too  loud!     It  is  true  I  am  not   well, 
Although  I  look  so  strong.     My  lungs  are  filled 
With  a  cold  whose  end  may  be  no  less  than  death. 
Would  you  grudge  me  one  free  breath  ot  pure  ozone? 
No  harm  can  come  to  her  from  me,  you  know 
I  hold  her  youth   a  poem  sacred,  dear, 
And  though  not  seeming  so,  would  be  a  guard 
Of  better  worth  than  others  speaking  fair, 
And  unsullied   by  a   wild  career  like  mine. 

ZENOBIA.     I  will  speak  soft,  come  here,  we'll  make  a  bond. 

(She  draws  him  apart  to  the  front  of  the  stage.) 
You  make  love  to  my  little  ward  a  bit, 
She  pines  in  dreamy  solitude  too  much. 
And  in  return  you'll   save  her  from  the  clutch 
Of  men  like  Jocelyn  Stanhope, — he  is  nere. 

BASIL.     The  hypocrite! 

ZENOBIA.  Not  that — he  is  far  worse, 
He  is  too  sadly  real — might  tempt  a  girl 
To  love's  insane  abandonment. 

BASIL.     The  cad! 
You  can  trust  me,  do  not   fear  I'll  go  too  far, — 

ZENOBIA  (laughing.)     Oh,  I  fear  enough  both  you  and  him. 
And  others  who  spin  about  my  pretty  girl, 
And  try  to  weave  a  web  of  deceitful  love. 

BASIL.     Why  here  she  comes, — she  must  not  see  us  thus, — 

(Withdraws  to  a  little  distance.     Enter  Dresda.) 

DRESDA  (to  Zenobia.)     There  is  no  place  for  miles  around 
we  have 
Not  seen.     There  is  nothing  left  for  us  to  do. 

ZENOBIA.     You  used  to  find  the  beauty  of  the  clouds, 
The  music  of  the  brooks  and  birds  and  winds, 
The    one   great   rapture    that    the   world    contained. 
And  now  you  are  not  satisfied! 

DRESDA.     Why  no! 

17 


Would   all   the   magic   colors  of  this   vale, 

Or  the  grandeur  of  these  walls  of  rock, 

Be   anything   but   empty   void,   if  man 

Did  not  bring  his  heart  to  understand, 

His  eye  to  measure  height  and  depth  and  glow, 

His  soul  to  feel  the   wonder  of  God's   work? 

ZFNOBIA.     It  is  always  dull  without,  a  man,  my  dear. 

DRESDA.     i   did   not   mean   that — I   meant — 

ZENOBIA.     You  know  not  what. 
Mr.  Lindsay  is  here,  quite  ill — may  die — • 
You   might    speak   a   word  or  two   to  him. 

DRESDA  (hesitating.)     I  don't  like 
To  have  him  for  my  only  friend. 

ZENOBIA.     My   child, 

He  is  no  worse  than  other  men,  in  fact, 
1  prize  his  virtue  rather  highly  myself. 

DRESDA.     Zenobia! 

ZENOBIA.     You    take    such    shy    alarm — 
You  must  learn  a  little  ease,  a  tact  like  mine. 

(Exit   Zenobia.) 

DRESDA   (alone,  troubled.)     She  is  my  oldest  friend,  and 
yet  she  seems 

To  sneer  at  me.     The  whole  world  is  like  a  sneer, 
A  horrid  joke  on  those  who  feel  too  much. 
There  is  a  demon  in  the  azure  sky, 
And  snakes  are  hiding  in  the  velvet  moss, — 
While  my  heart  so  sick  and  so  confused, 
Still  tries  in  vain  to  see  but  loveliness. 
I  was  so  glad  to  leave  those  men  last  year, 
And  now  I  almost  wish  that  they  were  here! 
What  do  I  want?     If  love,  real  love,  should  come, 
The  cloudland  that  I  now  despise,  would  turn, 
To  palaces  of  opal  light,  just  fired, 
With  a  burst  of  splendid,  living,  crimson  flame. 
But  that  real  love  is  as  far  from  me  as  the  top 
Of  yonder  monster  pine  whose  branches   wave 
In  sadness  near  the  white  horizon  line. 
But  while  I  wait,— 

(Basil  comes  from  the  rear  of  the  stage  and  joins  her.) 

BASIL.     Tell  me  that  thought,  Miss  Dresda, 
It  is  such  waste  to  talk  but  to  yourself. 

DRESDA.     Zenobia  told  me  you  were  here,  were  ill. 
I  am  so  sorry,  I  hope  you'll  soon  be  well. 

BASIL.     I  will  be  well  if  you  but  wish  it  so. 

DRESDA.     You  speak  as  if  I  had  some  healing  power. 

BASIL.     The  one  we  love  can  always  work  a  cure. 

DRESDA.     Zenobia  would  smile  to  hear  you  talk  like  that. 

BASIL.     But  you  are  not  Zenobia,  nor  will 
You  ever  be  like  her  in  worldliness. 
You  should  not  start  because  I  say  I  love  you. 

18 


I  should  despise  myself  if  I  did  not  feel 

A  softness  of  the  heart  before  your  shrine 

Of    youth    and    innocence.     An    atheist, 

I  bow  my  knee  within  a  reverend  place, — 

A  man  who  has  seen  the  worst,  I  whisper  love 

To  a  maiden's  purity.     Should  I  do  less, 

I   would    sink   to   shame. 

DRESDA. '  But    when    men    say    they    love, 
They  make  that  love  the  price  of  many  tears. 
They  insist  and  try  to  claim  for  their  very  own 
A  heart  that  has  not  yet  been  given  them. 
If  they  would   but   love   and   be   content— 

BASIL.     To   see 

The  one  they  love  a  statue  to  the  breeze, 
Serenely   poised   in  changeless,   silent   stone, 
As  passive  as  a  marble  tomb  that  feels 
No  stress  of  anguish  and  never  takes  a  mark 
From  sorrow's  ardent  kisses,  never  hears 
The  sighs  mat  drop  by  drop  the  heart's  own  blood 
Absorb.  ^ 

DRESDA.     O*j    not    quite   that,   but   passive, — yes. 

BASIL.     I  will  be  the  kind  of  lover  that  you  wish, 

Adoring  you,  but  making  not  one  claim 
Upon  your  cloistered  heart.     I  will  listen   ever 
While  you  talk.     And  since  we  met  last  fall 
How  have  you  passed  your  days? 

(Enter   Ethel.) 

DRESDA.     I  read  and  read, 

But  the  books  grow  more  and  more  remote.     I  find 
No  clue  that  binds  them  to  the  life  about  me. 

BASIL.     I  said  before  I  would  teach  you  life. 

ETHEL.     Me  too! 

I  want  to  learn  all  sorts  of  things  right  now, 
Before   I    marry.     I    would    like   to   have 
A  scandal  to  brighten  up  the  stupid  days. 
Then  when  I  am  settled  in  my  little  home. 
There  will  be  something   spicy   to   remember. 

DRESDA.     Why  what  a   strange  idea! 

BASIL.     Oh,   no,   it's   not, 
Miss  Coles,  for  any  game  you  like,  count  me 
A  ready  sport.     I'll  meet  you  where  you  say. 
And  teach  you  any  wicked  thing  you  choose. 

DRESDA.     I   must   go   away.     (Exit    Dresda.) 

BASIL.     We  can  make  our  plans  at  once. 

ETHEL.     I  wonder  how  you  dare  to  be  so  bold! 

BASIL.     I   but   followed   you   Miss  Coles. 

ETHEL.     You  say  I  am  bold! 
Yet  Dresda  talks  and  flirts  with  you  all  day, 
And  no  one  says  a  word,  while  I  must  stay 
Alone    with    Frank.     For   her   a    dozen    men, 

19 


For  me  just  one, — it  is  not  fair! 

BASIL.     Agreed! 

We'll  make  young  Merivale  a  jealous  man, 
Come  have  an  ice  with  me. 

(They  withdraw  to  a  small  table  in  the  rear  of  the  stage. 
Enter  Jocelyn  Stanhope.) 

JOCELYN   (nervously.)     So  many  here! 
I  thought  I'd  find  a  chance  to  rest  alone! 

(He  sits  down  by  himself,  glances  nervously  about  from 
time  to  time  as  if  he  were  being  watched.  Exit  Basil  and 
Ethel.  Enter  Dresda.  Jocelyn  gives  a  violent  start  as  he 
see  her.) 

JOCELYN.     I  did  not  hope  to  see  you  here,  Miss  Dresda. 

DRESDA.     Then  it  is  a  surprise  for  both  of  us. 

JOCELYN.     And  yet  it  was  your  magnet  drew  me  here, 
For  your  haunting  face  is  on  my  brain  all  day, 
At  night  I  seem  to  see  it  seraph-like 
Amid  the  images  of  Bible  lore. 
I  find  in  you  what  all  my  life  I  have  lacked, 
The  companion  of  my   soul.     Your  spirit  walks 
With  me  through  every  labyrinth  of  thought 
That  perplexes  man  in  his  search  for  the  perfect  God. 

DRESDA.     You  talk  in  such  a  serious  vein,  I  fear 
To  listen,  and  feel  it  is  a  kind  of  wrong 
For  me  to  be  even  your  ethereal  friend. 

JOCELYN.  And  don't  you  think,  dear  child,  that  in  my 
prayer, 

That  question  beats  like  the  hammer  on  the  forge? 
And   don't   you  think   sometimes  it   see'ms  a   sin 
For  your  fair  face  and  sapphire  eyes  to  thrust 
Their    presence    twixt    my    religious    work    and    me? 
And   then   again   it   seems   to  me   you   are 
The  only  good,  the  one  untainted  thing 
My  futile  life  has  thus  far  sought  in  vain. 
Like  an  ancient   slave  that  o'er  the  galleys   bent, 
I  have  toiled  in  silent  pain,  not  daring  to  lift 
My  eyes  to  a  view  of  the  hidden  sky  above, 
Yet  longing  with  a  hope  as  strong  as  life 
For  just  one  glimpse  of  something  high  and  true. 
I  cast  my  anchor  in  the  church,  and  then, 
With  every  nerve  aquiver  for  the  good, 
I  sought  the  heavenly  kingdom  on  this  earth. 

DRESDA.     You  frighten   me,   your  talk  is   so   intense! 

JOCELYN  (putting  his  right  hand  on  her  shoulder  and 
peering  into  her  eyes.)  And  then  I  met  a  woman  with  a 
soul! 

And  all  my  yearning  wayward,  vague,  unsure, 
Became  a  fearful  wish  to  claim  you  for  my  own, 
To  wed  my  years  to  your  white  heat  of  youth. 

DRESDA.     You  should  not  talk  that  way  to  me — oh  don't! 

20 


JOCELYN.     I   must!     A   life-time's  thwarted  purpose  runs 
Like  streaming  lava  through  my  veins  and  craves 
An  exit.     It  boils  within  my  heart  and  brain 
As  if  it  would  blaze  forth  and  light  the  world 
With   this  new  truth  that  has  smoldered   long  in  me. 

DRESDA.     Oh,    what    new    truth    is   that? 

JOCEI  YN.     A  woman's  soul 
The  lamp  of  light  eternal.     Dresda — come — 
My   bride, — my   wife, — my    soul   that    lives   in   you, — 
Our  marriage  will  defy  all  laws  of  sense, 
^e'l!    swim    the   ether    in    ecstasy    sublime. 

DRESDA.     You  make  me  dizzy  with  your  violent  love! 
I  cannot  follow  you  in  this  strange  flight. 
You    are   too   much   for   me — just    twice    my   age, — 
Oh,  is  it  fair  to  try  to  bend  me  thus 
To  your  design?     It  is  as  if  you  whirled  me 
In  your  arms  right  through  a  blinding  monsoon  storm, 
Or,    as    if    on    winged    horses    swift, 
We   cut   the   air   in   midnight   frenzied   chase. 

JOCELYN.     And  that  was  what  you  wished  to  do  last  year! 

DRESDA.     That  was  the  foolish  whim  of  an  untaught  girl. 
Oh,  please,  oh,  please,  refrain,  I  cannot  bear 
To  hear  you  put  me  in  a  sacred  place. 
You   said   a   minister   should  be  above 
All  thought  of  worldly  love. 

JOCELYN.     My  love  for  you 
Is  woven  with  my  work,  a  part  of  me 
As  the  stars  are  part  of  the  purpling  evening  sky. 
Without   you   I   shall   fail  to  high   intent, 
And   with   you   every   carnival   of  earth 
Will  doff  its  robes  of  flesh  and  greed  and  sloth 
And  don  the  shining  whiteness  of  your  soul. 

DRESDA.     I  am  not  fit  for  such  a  destiny, 
And  then  you  should  not  fear  to  stand  alone. 
Do  you  mean  to  marry  me  only  with  your  mind? 

JOCELYN.     With  my  mind  and  heart  and  all  my  deepest 
self  — 

Until  we  should  no  longer  be  as  two, 
But  one  strong  power  for  the  highest  good. 

DRESDA.     Why  then   in  wedding  you,  I  should   say  fare 
well 

To  Dresda,  to  my  own  poor  tiny  self! 
Oh,  I'd  rather  be  the  little  brook 
That  wanders  lonely  lost  in  forest  depths, 
Than  a  current  of  the  ocean's  mighty  swirl! 

JOCELYN.    I  have  not  taken   my   degree   as  yet, 
Suppose  I  should  abandon  my  career, 
And  live  for  you  and  you  alone  in  love? 
My  Dresda,  I  love  you  with  the  unchanging  love 
Of  a  man  not  young  who  has  never  loved  before. 

21 


'  It  is  not   the   love  of  an   impetuous,   silly   boy, 
Nor  the   passion   of   a   man   of  worldly  taste. 
You  see  I  throw  the  mantle  of  my  soul 
About   you.     Just   bend    your   eyes   upon   me   once. 

(He  leans  very  close  to  her  until  she  looks  half  hypnotised. 
They  sway  slightly  to  each  other  as  if  they  would  embrace. 
Enter  Zenobia.) 

ZENOBIA  (in  a  haughty,  angry  voice.)  It  seems  I  cannot 
trust  my  little  girl 

One   hour  alone   without   a   scene   like  this. 
I  warned  you  Jocelyn  Stanhope  last  time  we  met, 
I  would  not  have  you  making  love  to  her. 
Already  you  break  your  theological  oath, 
And  show  yourself  a  weakling  of  weakest  mold, 
A  man  who  falls  in  prostrate  passion  low 
Before  a  girl  so  young  she  might  be  his  child. 

JOCEI.YN.     My   love   for   Dresda   can    never   be   a   fall, 
For  it.  is  a  part  of  all  I  hold  most  high. 
You  claim  your  right  to  train  her  for  the  world, 
I'll  claim  my  right  to  mould  her  for  the  church. 
You,  Mrs.  Rodney,  think  I  must  be  mild, 
Must  bear  your  insults  or  abjure  my  faith. 
But  if  it  were  the  last  word  that  I  should  speak, 
I'd  say  that  my  love  for  this  sweet  girl  had  brought 
My  longing  soul  but  nearer  to  my  God. 

(Exit  Jocelyn.) 

DRESDA.     He  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  Zenobia  dear. 

ZENOBIA.     With  what  intent  behind,  do  you  suppose? 

DRESDA.     Behind?     Why  he  could  have  no  low  intent! 
He  is  too  far  from  earth,  that's  all,  his  eyes 
Are  curtained  by  his  fervor  of  the  church. 
Somehow  he  thinks  that  I  can  help  his  cause, 
Can  be  a  priestess  walking  by  his  side. 

ZENOBIA.     He  wants  your  youth  to  feed  his  priestly  fires, 
Your  heart  to  build  for  him  a  Christian  fame. 
And  when  to  feed  his  vast  self-love  he  has  drained 
Your  life-blood  to  the  very  dregs,  he'll  go 
And   seek  new   fields  of  youth,  forsaking  you. 

DRESDA.  Zenobia!  How  can  you  say  such  bitter  things? 
You  do  not  think  he  would  betray  my  love? 

ZENOBIA.     Your  love?     Don  t  say  that  such  a  thought  has 
come 
To  you  from  all  his  sanctimonious  cant? 

DRESDA.     Everything   is    so   obscure   and    dim, 
I  fear  his  great  mesmeric  dominance. 

ZENOBIA.     Such  fear  it  is  that  leads  poor  girls  astray,— 

DRESDA.     Zenobia,  my  guide,  how  can  you  hurt  me  so? 
How  can  you  hint  at  anything  so  dire? 
I    ca^'t    believe    that    Jocelyn    would    betray, — 

ZENOBIA    (sternly.)     So  soon,— -the  name!     And  where  is 

22 


Basil  then? 

I  i old  you  to  turn  your  thought  to  him  to-day. 

DRESDA.     Where  shall  I  turn  my  thoughts?     The  one  you 
praise 

Kas  been  of  evil  life,  forswears  his   God, 
The  one  whom  you  condemn  is  a  striving  saint. 
Zenobia,  my  oldest,  only  friend  who  as 
A  mother  stands  to  me,  you  would  not  LIE? 

^ENOBIA    (roughly.)     Why  not?     If  I  thought  it  for  your 
good?     I.  is  tin  o 

You    learned    to   drop    t~at   wistful,    childish    air, 
Believing  all  you  hear  like  a  simpleton. 

DRESDA.     Zenobia,  just   say   you   would   not   LIE!     If  you 
Are  false,  then  who  in  all  the  world  is  true? 
You   cannot   mean   to   lead  me   wrong,  just  now 
You  spoke  in  scorn  of  Jocelyn,  said  that  he 
Might  lead  me  to  some  harm  by  sweet  deceit, 
And  now  you  take  a  slippery  course  yourself. 
Oh  where  can  I  find  the  truth?     I'll  strangle  and  die, 
If  someone  does  not  tear  away  the  veil 
Of  black  uncertainty.     Zenobia,  once   more, 
Tell  me,  which  man  is  good  and  which  is  bad. 
Mr.  Lindsay  hints  at  grimy,  dreadful  things, 
And  Jocelyn's  mind  shines  clear  and  pure  and  true 
As  an  archangel's  jeweled  crown  of  radiant  light. 

ZENOBIA.     I  told  you  to  make  friends  with  Basil  Lindsay, 
The  religious  man  will  crush  and  ruin  your  life 
Before  it  has  begun.     (Exit  Zenobia.) 

DRESDA.     That  CAN'T  be  true! 
Oh  life  is  far  too  hard  to  live  like  this! 
Zenobia  lies — and  Basil  too — they  plot 
And  scheme — why  should  they  wish  to  give  me  pain? 
And  Jocelyn  is  too  strong, — half -mad  he  seems — 
Is  there  no  peace,  but  must  a  danger  dark 
Creep  round  my  footsteps  like  a  lurking  dwarf 
Who  with  the  assassin's  knife  must  cut  the  ground 
Beneath  my  feet  until  I  trip  and  fall? 

(Enter  Basil  and  Ethel.) 

ETHEL.     I  am  surprised  to  find  you  thus  alone, 
Where  are  your  friends? 

DRESDA.     Zenobia  left  just  now. 

ETHEL.     Frank  and  Eldred  come  this  way  tonight, — 
You  will  not  tell  them  of  my  escapade? 

DRESDA.     Your  escapade? 

BASIL.     With  me  she  means;  we  walked 
Through  the  valley  hand  in  hand,  the  ground 
Is  rough — too  hard  for  one  to  walk  alone. 

ETHEL.     You  ran  a  race  with  him  yourself  last  year. 

DRESDA.     You  all  are  making  cruel  sport  of  me. 
You  make  a  joke  of  everything  I  do, 

23 


And  no  one  cares  and  no  one  does  a  thing 
To  help  me  to  the  truth! 

(Enter  Prank  and  Eldred.) 

ELDRED.     Dresda,  Dresda! 

Who  has  hurt  you  so?     You  say  that  no  one  cares 
When  I  have  given  ceaseless  thought  to  you. 

DRESDA.     It  is  nice  to  see  you  here, — you  come  to  camp? 

FRANK.     I  came  to  camp  but  it  seems  I  come  too  late 
To  save  my  sweetheart  from  a  silly  scrape. 

BASIL.     My  foolish  youth,  you  take  absurd  alarm. 
I  would  never  think  of  coming  in  between 
The  bucolic  kisses  of  a  youth  and  maid 
On  their  hymeneal  road  to  rustic  bliss. 

ETHEL.     He  is  making  fun  of  us,  why  Frank,  he  thinks 
We  are  provincial,  country  gawks  who  do 
Not  know  the  world!      That's  why  I  thought  I'd  try, — 

FRANK.     'Tis  better  to  be  that  than  vile  like  him! 
Miss  Winrising,  could  not  you  have  hindered  this? 

DRESDA.     I  have  so  many  troubles  of  my  own! 

BASIL.     I  seem  to  stand  in  very  bad  esteem, 
But  then  I  talk  to  children,  void  of  sense. 
I  will  seek  Mrs.  Rodney,  a  woman  of 
Commanding  charm.      (Exit  Basil.) 

ELDRED.     I  feared  the  brute  had  eyes 
For  you,  my  Dresda,  dear. 

DRESDA     confused).     He  has  been  so  nice, — • 
And  is  quite  gentle,  too;   his  manner  has 
All  the  finished  gloss  of  ancient  chivalry. 
But  still  I  would  not  dare  to  trust  his  word. 

FRANK  (aside  to  Ethel).     We  will  go  for  a  little  walk  to 

give  him  a  chance, 

To  talk  to  her.     Poor  boy,  he  is  quite  daft, 
Has  one  idea  like  a  maniac  in  a  cell. 
I  told  him  to  be  sharp  with  her,  to  hold 
Her  wandering  fancy  in  his  virile  grip. 
And  I  warn  you,  I'll  stand  no  nonsense,  either. 

ETHEL.     You  are  just  as  simple  as  a  pair  of  calves. 
Don't  scold,  I'll  go  with  you,  let  Eldred  do 
His  worst. 

(Exit  Frank  and  Ethel.) 

ELDRED.     Now  tell  me  what  the  trouble  is,  sweetheart? 

DRESDA.     I  feel  like  a  trembling  deer,  pursued  and  run 
To  earth  by  a  cruel  fox  with  hungry  hounds. 
I  hide  behind  the  trees  and  hedge  and  bite, 
But  feel  that  they  will  eat  me  up  some  day. 

ELDRED.      You    morbid    child!      Does    Lindsay    give    such 
chase? 

DRESDA.   He  is  not  the  worst;  his  illness  makes  him  weak, 
But   Joselyn   Stanhope   swears  I  must  marry  him, 
And  go  on  some  religious  work  around 

24 


The  world.     It  is  as  if  I  were  a  model, 
A  frenzied  artist  needed  all  the  time 
To  make  his  paintings  true.     He  raves  of  love 
And  religion  all  combined  till  I  seem  to  be 
A  martyr  of  the  Christian  faith  condemned 
With  him  to  suffer  in  the  Roman  ring, 
Where  lions,  saints  and  gladiators  met 
In  ghastly  butchery. 

ELDRED.     My   promised   wife 

Would  be  sercure  from  the  fiend  that  you  describe. 
I  know  him  little,  but  it  is  not  hard 
To  guess  his  nature,  the  fervor  of  the  church 
Mingling  with  an  erotic,  turgid  love  for  you. 

DRESDA.     Oh  Eldred!      What  shall  I  do? 

ELDRED.     Give  me  your  word. 

DRESDA.     I  can't!     I  do  not  love  you  just  that  way. 

ELDRED.     But  I  love  you  and  that  is  quite  enough 
For  both  of  us.     Suppose  you  just  consent 
To  be  engaged  to  keep  him  from  your  track? 

DRESDA.      Eldred, — you    are    so     good — you     would     not 
betray? 

ELDRED  (proudly).     I  am  poor  and  young,  but  I  have  not 
learned  to  lie. 

DRESDA.     Eldred,  you  will  not  be  as  you  were  last  year? 

(Enter  Jocelyn.) 

ELDRED.     Stanhope,  good  day,  do  come  and  wish  us  joy; 
Dresda  Winrising  is  my  promised  wife. 

JOCELYN    (laughing).     What  childish  by-play  is  this,  my 
boy? 

DRESDA.     My  boy! 
He  is  twenty-four,  why  surely  that's  a  man! 

JOCELYN.      And    on    what    do    you    hope    to    support    your 
promised  wife. 

ELDRED.     You  know  that  I  am  a  rising  architect. 

JOCELYN.     Your  employers  are  friends  of  mine,  one  word 

from  me 
And  your  rising  course  would  be  a  rapid  fall. 

ELDRED.     I  could  seek  some  other  field  and  slave  for  her. 

JOCELYN.     And  have  you  won  consent  from  Mrs.  Rodney? 

DRESDA.     Zenobia  no  longer  cares  for  n  e. 

JOCELYN.     Dresda  is  not  for  a  little  whelp  like  you; 
She  soars  so  far  above  your  humble  head 
You  cannot  even  hear  her  wings'  soft  swish 
As  they  cleave  the  air  in  flight  far  swung  above 
The  common  loves  of  common  men  who  go 
Afoot  like  you. 

ELDRED.     I  could  strike  you  in  the  face 
For  talk  like  that. — you  scoundrel  in  a  parson's  garb! 

JOCELYN.     Quiet,  my  boy,  step  back,  this  girl  is  mine. 
Her  soul  just  waked  to  knowledge  of  divine 

25 


Revealing,  must  take  its  destined  course  of  glory, 

Of  love  within  the  province  of  the  soul. 

Her  opening  mind  to  mine,  united,  knit, 

Transparent  as  a  perfect  crystal,  white,  , 

And  carved  by  me  like  a  cameo  so  rare 

The  ancient  ruins  would  be  searched  in  vain 

To  find  its  equal,  will  work  the  miracle 

Of  the  coming  faith. 

ELDRED.     All  that  just  means  you  want 
To  hold  her  in  your  arms;   your  middle  age 
Is  yearning  for  a  young  and  lovely  girl, 
But  while  I  live  I  swear  she  shall  not  be  yours. 
She  has  chosen  me,  she's  mine  unto  the  end. 

DRESDA.    Eldred,  i  did  not  say  unto  the  end! 
I  must  tell  the  truth,  you  are  not  the  perfect  one. 
HE  has  not  come, — I  wait, — 

JOCEJ  YN    (mockingly).     And  now,  young  man? 

ELDRED.     I  have  no  fear  of  you  or  war  or  death! 

DRESDA.     My  heart  has  such  a  piercing  ypain;  it's  dark — 

(She  staggers  slightly,  putting  her  hand  to  her  heart. 
Enter  Zenobia,  Basil,  Frank,  Ethel,  and  a  crowd  of  curious 
spectators.) 

ZENOBIA    (with  infinite  contempt).     The  dark  ages  seem 

to  loom  upon  our  way, 

When  men  like  savage  beasts  upon  their  prey, 
Fight  to  kill  a  pure  and  sweet  young  girl! 

CURTAIN. 

ACT    3.— THE    SAME    SUMMER. 

(Scene:  Botanical  gardens  and  mountain  of  thorns  in 
North  Berkeley.  Plants  and  flowers  are  growing  in  tropical 
luxuriance,  special  attention  being  given  to  curiosities  in 
plants  of  the  prickly  and  poisonous  variety.  A  portion  of 
the  scene  is  under  a  glass  conservatory  and  some  of  the 
plants  are  under  glass  covers.  It  is  a  bright  summer  after 
noon,  and  the  characters  are  from  a  large  garden  party  recep 
tion  being  held  at  one  of  the  mansions  in  the  neighborhood. 
Enter  Frank,  Eldred  and  Ethel.) 

ETHEL.     I  felt  as  if  I  should  suffocate  down  there, 
With  all  those  lofty  people  in  fine  array, 
Mrs.  Rodney  and  her  suite  cut  such  a  dash! 

FRANK.     Yet  night  and  day  you  cry  because  no  one 
Will  open  for  you  the  doors  of  society! 

ETHEL.     It  seems  to  me  that  they  are  closed  today, 
An  invitation  is  not  worth  its  price, 
When  one  is  overlooked  by  fashion's  pride, 
And  made  to  feel  as  small  as  a  serving-maid. 

ELDRED.     I  wish  that  I  had  such  a  small  complaint! 
What  is  a  haughty  tea  or  two  compared 

26 


With  life  and  death? 

FRANK.    But  Dresda  is  here  today. 

ETHEL.     She  is  looking  like  a  frightened,  fading  ghost. 

FRANK.   And  still  she  stays  near  Jocelyn  Stanhope's  fangs! 

ELDRED.     Her  parents'  estate  is  now  in  court.  She  must 
remain  the  summer  through. 

FRANK.     He  will  not  yield? 

E;  DRED.     Not  he.     I  think  sometimes  the  incarnate  fiend 
Is  hidden  behind  that  classic  brow  of  his. 
He  flooded  her  with  letters  full  of  love, 
Then  that  forbidden,  he  took  to  writing  verse, 
So  that  never  a  journal  meets  her  random  eye 
Without  some  message  of  his  frantic  dream, 
To  make  her  his  wife  and   shape  her  virgin  soul 
To  his  new  expounding  of  the  word  of  God. 

ETHEL.     I  should  think  her  love  for  you  would  make  her 

smile. 
At  his  vague  pleadings. 

ELDRED.     You  forget  how  weak  I  am 
In  worldly  power, — a  shrimp  shell  that  is  crushed 
In  the  machine  of  his  vast  influence. 
At  every  step  I  take  I  hear  a  jeer 
At  my  presumption  and  my  helpless  youth. 
What  chance  has  there  ever  been  for  youth  to  vie 
With  the  assurance  and  the  weight  of  middle  age, 
Or  worse,  the  authority  of  the  very  old? 
We  are  like  the  fragile  plants   that  try  to  grow 
Within  the  radius  of  the  giant  oak, 
Or  beneath  the  eucalyptus'  waving  leaves. 
We  put  forth  a  feeble  birth,  then  wither  out, 
Absorbed  by  the  great  strong  roots  that  fill  the  ground. 
We  can  never  say  "I  will"  but  in  our  hearts, 
While  always  "I  must"  is  ringing  in  our  ears. 
I  must  stand  by  and  see  my  Dresda  wilt, 
While  a  man  in  power  asphyxiates  her  youth, 
With  his  demented  passion  without  control. 
It  seems  as  if  my  very  heart  would  burst. 

ETHEL.     I  am  so  tired  of  trying  to  follow  her. 
No  one  cares  for  me;   Frank  fumes:     I  can't  untie 
The  knot  of  her   strange   perplexity  and  doubt. 
She  seems  so  sad  and  yet  she  flirts  and  flirts 
And  has  no  end  of  pretty  clothes  and  rings. 
ELDRED.     You  have  no  special  love  for  Mrs.  Rodney? 

ETHEL.     Oh,  no!      She  tramples  on  my  defenseless  head. 

ELDRED.      Then    you    and    Frank    will   fight   with   me   for 

Dresda. 

She  is  young  and  we  are  young,  and  yet 
We  dare  not  keep  her  for  our  own.     Oh  God. 
I  wish  that  I  had  clung  to  farming  life, 
And  cast  my  love  upon  a  dairy  maid. 

27 


My  tortured  love  for  her  knows  no  surcease, 
The  more  I  see  her  pale  and  helpless,  ill, 
The  deeper  grows  my  love,  my  rage  at  nets 
That  old  men  and  women  weave  for  us  before 
We  leave  the  cradle. 

FRANK.     Don't  go  on  like  that. 
Be  brave.     There  is  something  that  we  yet  can  do 
To  frustrate  their  horrid  plans.     We  are  here  to  help. 

ET  DRED.     Listen  close.     His  ruin  is  what  1  want. 

ETHEL.     But  he  is  too  rich  for  that. 

ELDRED.    Not  money  ruin 

But  worse. — his  precious  fame,  to  him  more  dear 
Than  even  Dresda's  tender  girlishness; 

His  reputation  as  a  saintly  man,  ; 

His  hope  of  holy  apostleship  and  work 
Within  a  field  most  prized  by  learned  men. 
One  blemish  on  his  soul  of  satin  white, 
And   the   spiritual   empire  that  he  craves   is   lost. 

ETHEL.     That  blemish  is  already  his. 

ELDRED.     Oh  no! 

His  proposals  to  our  friend  have  had  the  cloak 
Of  honor.     Once  prove  they  were  of  foul  intent. — 

FRANK.     But  that  is  where  our  feebleness  still  hurts. 
We  have  no  power  to  prove  a  word  of  truth 
Or  falsity. 

ELDRED.     Did  you  ever  plant  a  seed, 
And  see  it  grow  into  a  tree?    Or  throw 
A  stone  into  the  river's  midst  and  see 
The  widening  ripples  it  makes  right  down  the  stream? 
Or  light  a  match  and  see  a  City  burn? 
I  have  begun.     I  know  the  men  who  work 
About  his  seminary  so  august. 
They  love  a  bit  of  talk,  their  life  is  cold, 
Held  down  by  stupid  rules  of  dry  decorum. 

ETHEL.     I  should  like  to  see  him  fall;   and  after  that? 

ELDRED.    I  must  win  that  shy,  sad  heart  of  my  timid  maid. 

(They  gather  into  a   close  group,  their  heads  pressed  to 
gether  as  if  hatching  a  conspiracy.) 

FRANK.     Where  lies  our  task? 

ELDRED.     Help  on  the  work,  just  talk 
And  talk,  a  word  to  every  one  you  meet. 
And  Ethel,  you  will  sew  some  strands  to  catch 
The  dainty  feet  of  Mrs.  Rodney, — SNOB! 

ETHEL.     It  is  better  than  the  other  game  we  played. 
I  feel  like  a  heroine  of  old  romance, 
Who  goes  with  men  to  storm  a  castle  wall. 

FRANK.     I   suppose  that  I  must  play  the  intrepid  spy. 

ELDRED.     No,  no;    not  that;    we  are   detectives   bold   and 
And  true  and  brave,  who  are  going  to  save  a  girl 
From  persecution  worse  than  sudden  death, — 

28 


And  then  there  is  a  righteous  cause  at  stake 

In  turning  our  youthful  wrath  against  the  crime 

Of  ancient  tyranny.     He  threatened  me 

With  downfall  because  I  was  so  poor  and  young, 

But  when  two  play  a  game  like  that,  which  takes 

A  wrestler's  nerve,  the  victor  is  not  apt 

To  be  the  one  who  is  old. 

(They  all  laugh  hysterically.     Basil  has  entered  leisurely, 
smoking  a   cigar,   and  heard   the  last   sentence.) 

BASIL.     Is  there  a  prize-fight  on  tonight? 

ETHEL    ( embarrassed  (.     We  spoke 
In  general  conversation.     How  do  you  do? 

BASIL.     Thank  you,  somewhat  better  than  last  Spring. 
This  place  is  strange  for  merry  hearts  to  choose 
On  a  gala  day.     The  scientists  hold  here 
Some  curious  mysteries,  a  garden  like 
A  torture-chamber  or  a  hangman's  cell 
Right  near  the  gallows'  hint  of  awful  death. 

ELDRED.     Bah!      The  thorns  and  poisons  that  you  do 
Not  see,  are  worse! 

BASIL.     You  seem  to  have  a  wrong? 

FRANK.     Be  careful.     Lindsay  is  no  friend  of  ours. 
He   derides   our   inexperience  and   youth, 
And  throws  our  country  origin  in  our  face. 

BASIL.     A  foe  along  the  lines  of  ceremony, 
Is  sometimes  a  precious  friend,  when  a  common  cause 
Attracts  him  on  the  lines  of  hate. 

ELDRED.     You  hate 
A  hypocrite,  a  man  who  uses  symbols 
And  words  of  sacred  truth  for  his  own  base  ends. 
That  is  our  common  cause. 

BASIL.     I  know  whom  you  mean. 
And   yet  he   sits   serene  on  his   lofty   height, 
And  smiles  with  brutal  condescension  on  men 
Who  live  like  men,  from  all  pretenses  free. 
My  favorite  saint  has  always  been  proud  Lucifer, 
Who  could  fall  and  glory  in  his  fall,  could  make 
A  kingdom  of  his  own  perdition's  loss. 
But  still  I  would  much  rather  see  a  saint 
While  reigning  in  the  pearly  realms  on  high, 
Deprived  of  his  sceptre  diamond-headed  white, 
And  exposed  in  naked  infamy. 

ETHEL.     They  say,— 

ELDRED.      Your    view   is   good,   but    say   we    change   the 

theme. 

Have  you  heard  some  gossip  floating  in  the  air 
Of  Jocelyn  Stanhope  and  his  pious  aims? 

BASIL.     A  man  of  worth  no  doubt,  I  wonder  that 
Mrs.  Rodney  finds  him  such  a  bore! 

ETHEL.     I  feel  so  bad  that  daily  Dresda  grows 

29 


More  ill. 

(Enter  Jocelyn.  Ethel,  Frank  and  Eldred  look  guilty  and 
try  <o  assume  a  natural  attitude.  Basil  nonchalantly  takes 
up  his  cigar  and  continues  to  smoke.) 

E!  DRED.  let's  seek  a  grove  of  more  pleasant  growths, — 
A  dahlia  bed  or  lillies  perfumed  sweet. 

(Exit  Eldred,  Ethel  and  Frank  with  a  nervous,  shuffling 
tread.) 

JOCELYN.     What  are  these  chicks  about?     They  look  like 

boys 

Who  have  crept  into  a  cupboard  and  filled  tkemselves 
With   stolen  jam. 

BASIL.     I  have  seen  older  men 
!  ook  just  that  way.     This  is  a  queer  retreat, — 
I  came  here  alone  to  smoke — the  crowd  is  dense, — 
But  others  follow  strangely  in  my  train. 

JOCELYN.     Mrs.  Rodney  meets  me  here  at  four. 

BASIL.     No  doubt  you  will  have  a  pleasant  interview. 

JOCELYN.      You    taunt    me    with    her    marked    dislike,    I 

know. 

But  then  I  meet  the  same  contempt  from  you 
And  many  others.     Our  calling  is  a  path 
Of  thorns — I  named  this  garden  from  my  own  choice 
As  the  place  where  best  I  could  meet  her  hostile  tongue. 
I  wonder  if  the  snake  as  deeply  hates 
The  bird  that  flies  above  it,  as  those  who  walk 
Our  daily  walks  of  earth  hate  those  who  soar, 
And  yet  in  ancient  geological  time, 
Bird  and  reptile  met  in  one  strong  being. 

BASIL.     I  have  no  hate  for  holy  men  as  such, 
Would  bend  my  knee  to  any  saint  I  thought 
Sincere,  but  when  the  pivot  of  one's  faith 
Turns  round  a  girl  who  tempts  the  sensual  man, 
While  holding  fast  an  innocence  like  snow, 
My  homage  staggers  from  the  nasty  blow. 

JOCELYN.     You  would  deny  to  me  a  right  you  claim 
Yourself?     For  you  the  vision  of  her  beauty 
To  allure  your  jaded  sense,  for  me  no  glimpse 
Of  that  soul  of  hers,  that  beam  of  purest  light, 
Which  penetrates  the  darkest  heart,  even  there 
Diffusing  its  wealth  of  mystic  enchantment  charm. 

BASIL.     She  looks  so  ill  that  soon  from  the  other  side 
Of  the  darkest  of  all  dark  valleys  she  will  peer 
Upon  our  mortal  happenings.     I  hear  it  said 
She  suffers  from  the  strain  you  put  upon  her 
In  ardent,  selfish  wooing. 

JOCELYN.     Who  dares  say  that? 

BASIL.  I  thought  you  would  jump,  for  gossip  has  no  place 
Within  a  minister's  sanctuary 

JOCELYN.     I  take 

30 


My  degree  next  month  and  then  I  hope  with  her 

To  seek  new  fields,  away  from  enemies 

Who  vent  their  jealous  rage  on  the  two  best  things, 

This  dreary  universe  contains, — the  church. 

And  the  woman  who  is  its  lovely,  ideal  flower. 

BASIL.     I  could  pity  you  and  think  you  crazy, — mad, — 
With   sophistry  of  the  theological   schools, 
If  I  did  not  see  the  harm  you  work.     Farewell. 

(Exit  Basil.) 

JOCELYN    (alone).     It  seems  as  if  this  place  were  made 

for  me, 

As  if  an  avenging  God  would  line  my  shirt 
With  thorns,  and  stick  a  nettle  in  my  throat, 
And  poison  the  very  water  that  I  quaff. 
I  can't  be  wrong.     It  is  not  divine  to  seek 
The  heavenly  kingdom  in  a  sad  retreat  alone, 
But  surely  in  a  being  rarely  fine, 
With  just  that  exquisite  essence  of  living  nerve, 
That  makes  of  a  doll  a  human  child,  and  turns 
Man's  longing  for  the  truth  into  a  prayer. 
The  years  have  taught  me  nothing  else  but  this, — 
And  yet  their  light,  so  clear  to  me,  is  dim 
To  others.     A  precipice  seems  to  yawn  for  me 
Just  as  the  revelation  breaks  from  heaven. 
Oh  God  have  mercy! 

(Enter    Zenobia.      She    looks   very    white   and    intense    and 
watches  him  a  moment  before  she  speaks.) 

ZENOBIA    (laughing   sarcastically).     I   feel   constrained  to 

admire 
That  poise  of  yours,  so  humble,  suppliant. 

(Jocelyn  starts,  turns  and  looks  at  her  with  tragic  eyes.) 
Did  not  my  duty  lie  along  the  course 
Of  your  undoing,  I  could  almost  fall  in  love, 
With  a  man  so  sublimely  blind,  unconscious  quite. 
Of  the  monstrous,  dampening  shadow  that  he  casts. 

JOCELYN   (with  set  jaws).     I  came  prepared  to  hear  the 

worst  your  tongue 

Can  manufacture  of   invective   sharp. 
Now  tell  me  clearly  why  you  cut  me  so? 

ZENOBIA.     But  first  tell  me,  do  you  hug  your  purpose  still 
Of  wedding  Dresda? 

JOCELYN.     Could  you  think  my  love 
So  weak  that  it  would  waver  and  collapse 
Before   your   challenge   and   sarcastic   charge? 
Am  I  the  down  that  from  the  thistle's  heart 
Blows  heedless  here  and  there  with  changing  breeze? 

ZENOBIA.     Your  love  is  for  her  radiant   youth  of  course. 

JOCELYN.     Say  rather  for  her  mind  of  heaven's  own  make. 

ZENOBIA.      If   mind   is    the    magnet    that   holds    you    fast, 
allured, 

31 


You  might  have  chosen  me  instead  of  her. 

JOCELYN.     YOU?     It  is  my  turn  to  laugh.     Why  you? 

ZENOBIA.     I  am  a  more  appropriate  age,  am  free 
To  marry   where   I  choose — I  might   choose  you. 

JOCELYN.     What   strange   turn  of   diabolical   mirth 
Is  this? 

ZENOBIA.     You  don't  deny  I  have  a  mind? 

JOCELYN.     A  mind  of  a  certain  sort,  the  kind  that  loves 
The  crooked  alleys  of  an  ancient  street 
Behind  high  walls  of  feudal  prisons  built, 
Rather  than  the  broad  way  of  open  truth. 

ZENOBIA.     Say  that  I  have  the  mind  befits  my  years,  ' 
While  Dresda's  is  the  child's  unwritten  page. 
Then,  you  who  aim  to  be  counted  of  the  wise, 
Prefer  a  primer  to  a  book  of  lore! 

JOCELYN.     Why  yes  if  the  primer  tells  the  holy  truth, 
And  the  learned  book  is  a  JVTachiavelli  text. 

ZENOBIA.     Your  priestly  tongue  has  quite  as  many  forks 
As  mine.     How  wherein  lie  my  deeds  of  guilt? 

JOCELYN.      You   wield   an   aggressive   sword   in   times   of 
peace. 

ZENOBIA.      I   protect   my   charge   from    the   hunter's    gun, 

that's  all; 

From  men  like  you  who  want  her  for  her  youth, 
Who  would  use  her  budding  life  as  dinner  wine, 
Or  choicest  food  to  feed  their  appetite. 

JOCELYN.     You   almost   make   me   think   your   own   blood 

runs 
Too  swiftly  for  a  woman  of  your  years. 

ZENOBIA.     You  think  perhaps  a  yellow  jealousy 
Tempts  me  to  struggle  for  your  belated  love? 
That  I  would  thrust  my  darling  in  the  shade, 
To  seize  myself  that  wandering  soul  of  yours; 
That  in  those  eyes  so  soft,  appealing,  mild, 
I  would  see  the  image  of  my  practiced  charm? 
You  think  my  fingers  yearn  to  wind  and  wind 
Through  the  lustrous  silver  locks  that  crown 
Your  haughty  head? 

(She  bends  forward  with  sudden  intensity.) 
Then  be  it  so,  my  friend! 

You  think  it  is  right  to  make  of  love  a  chase, 
To  draw  your  victim's  life  from  her  very  heart. 
Then  I  will  follow  with  the  same  idea. 
Jocelyn,  I  love  you!     You  must  be  mine!     You  must! 
I  am  rich  and  powerful  and  strong,  a  queen 
If  you  but  knew  the  truth,  with  friends  who  walk 
The  heights  of  ecclesiastical  influence. 
My  forty  years  but  give  me  depth  and  glow. 
I  want  you  as  a  vulture  wants  the  dead; 
I  want  you  as  the  imprisoned  want  the  light; 

32 


«  V 

* 

ERSITY 

I  want  you  as  the  heathen  wants  a  god; 
I  want  you  as  the  dying  want  a  hope: 
I  want  you  as  the  desert  wants  the  rain. 
Jocelyn,  my  Jocelyn,  come  to  me,  my  love! 

(Her  tone  throughout  is  one  of  extreme  passion  and  seduc 
tion.  The  scene  is  half  in  intense  light,  half  in  intense 
shadow.  The  brilliant,  highly  colored  tropical  plants  have 
the  sun  on  them  and  the  green  herbs  are  in  the  shade.  Her 
voice  quivers  with  passionate  entreaty,  and  she  approaches 
to  put  her  arms  about  him.  He  seizes  her  violently  and 
thrusts  her  from  him  with  such  force  that  she  falls  in  one 
of  the  beds  of  thorns.  The  glass  protecting  a  precious 
tropical  plant  splinters  as  she  crashes  into  it.) 

JOCELYN.     You   fiend   in   woman's   shape,   you   tempt   me 

down 

To  hell.     You  mock  my  piety,  my  love, 
My  hope  of  life  to  come,  my  hatred,  scorn, 
Of  all  that  is  low  and  vile, — you  vilify 
The  sex  that  blooms  in  Dresda's  purity. 
Oh  God  have  mercy! 

(Zenobia  picks  herself  up.  Her  lace  is  badly  torn,  and  her 
hands  and  face  are  torn  and  bleeding.) 

ZENOBIA.     My  sex  is  no  excuse — 
I  ask  no  privilege, — there  is  none  for  you. 
I  can  reply  as  you  have  seen  before. 

(She  places  her  two  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  gives  him 
a  violent  push.  In  his  excitement  he  has  not  time  to  defend 
himself  and  falls  like  her  in  a  bed  of  nettles  and  splintering 
glass.) 

ZENOBIA.     And   now   perhaps   we   can   talk   on   an    equal 
plane! 

(He  picks  himself  up  like  her,  his  face  also  torn  and  bleed 
ing.  They  front  each  other  in  frightful  tragic  intensity.) 

JOCELYN.     To  think  that  I  have  sunk  as  low  as  this! 
A  man  of  God  to  scuffle  like  a  dog 
In  physical  contest  with  the  weaker  sex! 

ZENOBIA.    Why  be  a  man  of  God?    Why  not  be  mine? 
You  hate  me  so  I  have  some  hope  of  love. 

(She  approaches  him  once  more;  he  makes  another  repul 
sive  movement,  but,  unwilling  to  knock  her  down  again,  his 
movement  is  too  feeble,  and  he  becomes  locked  in  her  em 
brace.  They  stand  thus  in  tableau,  with  their  hands  and 
faces  bleeding  in  the  most  ghastly  manner.  Enter  Dresda. 
She  looks  pale,  thin  and  extremely  ethereal.  She  stands  for 
a  moment  too  aghast  to  speak,  then  gives  a  terrifice,  piercing 
shriek.) 

DRESDA.     Zenobia!      Jocelyn!     Who  has  killed  you  both? 

(Jocelyn  and  Zenobia  hurriedly  fall  apart,  both  panting  for 
breath,  and  Zenobia  begins  wiping  her  face  with  her  hand- 

33 


kerchief.     He  goes  to  the  rear  of  the  stage.) 

ZENOBIA.    It  is  nothing  dear;  these  thorns  are  very  sharp. 

DRESDA.      Everybody    missed    you, — Basil   said 
I  should  find  you  here.     Oh  tell  me  what  is  wrong? 

ZENOBIA.     The  thorns,  that's  all, — we  plucked  them  and 

they  stung. 

I  must  go  and  wash  my  face.     Make  my  excuse 
To  any  friends  who  ask, — you  must  not  stay  here. 

JOCELYN   (turning  round).     I  wish  to  speak  to  you  right 

now,  Miss  Dresda; 
Just  hear  my  version  of  this  interview. 

ZENOBIA.     You  see  he  is  afraid,  much  more  than  I! 
You  can  stay  this  once, — I'll  send  a  guard  to  stand 
At  a  little  distance,  in  case  of  any  harm. 

(Exit     Zenobia,     calling     out     as     she     goes,     "Gardener, 
Gardener.") 

JOCELYN.     Dresda,  my  little  girl,  you  know  I  love  you; 
That  somehow  I  should  lose  the  wish  to  live, 
If  my  living  were  not  all  entwined  with  thought 
Of  you,  as  the  ribbons  in  your  lovely  hair. 

DRESDA.     Oh,  Jocelyn  don.'t  say  that  again,  I  pray. 
I  would  love  you  if  I  could!     I  would!     I  would! 
But  something  beats  within  my  tired  brain 
That  will  not  let  me  love.     'Tis  like  a  stone 
That  at  my  birth  was  bedded  in  my  head, 
To  obstruct  the  flow  of  gentle  tenderness. 
I  want  to  love,  to  melt  and  glow  and  live, 
But  the  feeling  will  not  come. 

JOCELYN.     It  will  come  in  time, 
If  you  once  escape  from  Zenobia's  baleful  hate. 
She  is  the  barrier  like  a  battery 

Of  foul-mouthed  cannon  that  shoots  away  from  you 
All  happiness,  all  power  to  thaw  and  warm. 

DRESDA.     Oh  Zenobia  cannot  be  of  evil  mind! 

JOCELYN.     Just  now  she  made  a  low  attack  on  me, — we 

fought 
And   fell   in  the   brambles  and   the  breaking  glass, — 

DRESDA     with    a    cry).     Jocelyn!      What   awful    thing   is 

this  you  say? 

YOU  FOUGHT!     Why  that  is  what  the  wild  beasts  do! 
I  seem  to  swim  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
And  close  my  eyes  because  I  fear  to  see 
Some  awful  reptile  swimming  in  the  ooze! 
Oh,  tell  me  nothing  more  or  I  will  die! 

JOCELYN    (soothingly).     My  little  girl,  it  is  all  too  much 

for  you, 

You  can't  go  on  without  a  friend,  my  sweet. 
Jocelyn  loves  you  with  all  his  bursting  heart, — 
Your  head  upon  my  shoulder,  your  arms  about 
My  neck, — one  kiss  from  that  rare  mouth  of  thine. 

34 


DRESDA.     With  all  that  blood  upon  your  face, — I  can't! 
I  must  go  and  look  for  Eldred, — he  is  true, 
Although  so  helpless  against  his  seniors'  might. 

(She  begins  to  cry  softly,  while  he  tries  to  wipe  the  blood 
from  his  face  and  bends  forward  with  his  mouth  shaped  for  a 
kiss.  Enter  Frank.) 

FRANK.     Mr.  Stanhope,  I  was  sent  to  look  for  you. 
I  bring  a  letter  from  the  seminary. 

JOCELYN  (starting).  Give  it  to  me.  What  can  they 
have  to  say? 

(He  seizes  the  letter,  reading  it  feverishly,  hastily,  with 
obvious  agitation.) 

JOCELYN.     They  have  combined  to  trample  out  my  life! 

FRANK.     You  wish  to  send  an  answer  now  by  me? 

JOCELYN.     By  you?     Oh  no!     I'll  take  this  blow  alone. 

DRESDA.     Then  I  am  in  the  way  also, — goodbye. 

JOCELYN.     No  you   must   stay,  for  you  are  the  guiltless 

cause. 

Just  listen  while  I  read  this  document 
Of  final  doom,  like  a  sentence  to  be  hanged, 
Or  the  severing  touch  of  the  guillotine's  cold  steel. 
"A  rumor  of  growing  strength  has  reached  our  ears, 
Concerning  you  and  a  love  too  much  of  flesh. 
It  is  said  that  you  forget  your  sacred  work, 
To   dally   round   a  budding  maiden's  charms. 
Her  youth  and  innocence  give  this  the  guise 
Of  the  tempting  fiend  whose  footsteps  follow  on 
The  untrodden  path  of  flowery,  verdant  Spring. 
We  have  no  proof  that  you  have  stooped  so  far, 
Or  that  you  stagger  on  the  dizzy  brink 
Of  her  betrayal,  but  surely,  you  must  know, 
Suspicion  must  not  even  send  one  dart 
Athwart  the  reputation  of  a  man 
Of  God;   therefore,  for  you  there  cannot  be 
A  ministry  sanctioned  by  this  school  for  saints. 
In  whatever  walks  you  choose  henceforth,  we  pray 
That  God  will  guide  you  to  a  worthy  end." 

DRESDA.     Oh,  Jocelyn,  I  am  so  sorry,  does  it  mean 
That  you  have  lost  the  career  for  which  you  worked 
So  hard? 

JOCELYN.     It   means  my  endeavor's  whole  eclipse. 
I  am  like  an  acrobat,  who,  a  thousand  times, 
Leaps  through  the  air  from  moving  swing  to  swing, 
At  last  to  miss  his  aim  and  fall  to  earth 
A  mangled  corpse!     And  you,  the  one  pure  thing, 
Of  fairy  light  that  glimmered  in  my  gloom, 
Have  brought  me  to  this  end! 

DRESDA  (frightened  and  nervous).     Oh,  don't  say  that! 
Although  somehow  I  cannot  love  you,  and  fear 
Your  weight  of  years  upon  my  trembling  nerves, 

35 


I  still  believe  you  mean  to  search  the  way 
Of  heaven ;   and  if  you  like  I  will  go  to  them, 
And  swear  you  never  spoke  but  in  honor's  vein. 

JOCELYN.     My  little  friend,  it  is  too  late  for  that; 
Self-deceiving,  I  have  tried  to  think 
I  laved  you  for  your  undimmed  spark  of  soul, 
The  divinity  unclouded  in  your  eyes, 
But  somehow  now  in  my  being's  very  depth, 
In  convulsions  that  shake  the  heart,  in  my  troubled  breast, 
I  know  I  love  you  with  abandonment. 
My   motives  have  lain   along  a   zigzag  course, 
The  long  climb  I  have  made  to  reach  the  summit 
Of  the  mind's  free  scope,  has  strayed  somehow  with  you 
To  groves  whose  perfume  intoxicates  and  drugs 
The  reeling  senses, — Dresda,  my  love  is  real, 
You  see  it  now  in  its  very  truth  and  shame. 
What  shall  we  do?     Now  in  my  hour  of  pain 
Will  you  come  to  me? 

DRESDA.     I  feel  as  if  a  crime 
Were  somehow  hiding,  lurking  here  between  us. 
I  am  AFRAID!     AFRAID!     What  can  they  mean 
By  saying  you  meant  to  betray  my  trust? 

JOCELYN.     They  meant 
To  read  a  riddle  beyond  their  learned  ken. 
Dresda,  my  little  girl,  my  pure  white  flower, 
It  was  you  who  betrayed  poor  Jocelyn  to  his  fall! 

(He  sinks  heavily  on  the  ground  near  the  bench  on  which 
she  is  seated  and  buries  his  face  in  her  skirts,  while  a  servant 
appears  ominously  in  the  rear  of  the  stage  and  Dresda  looks 
panic-stricken,  as  if  she  would  die  of  fright.) 

CURTAIN. 

ACT    IV. 

(Scene,  same  as  Act  I.  Autumn,  just  a  year  from  the  time 
of  the  opening  of  the  play.  It  is  morning,  with  rather  a  cold, 
wintry  light  playing  over  the  scene.  Dresda  is  discovered 
in  an  invalid  chair,  with  a  wrapping  of  white  furs.  Ethel 
is  seated  next  to  her.) 

DRESDA.     How  strange  it  is  our  wishes  change  with  time! 
Last  year  I  pined  to  fly  beyond  the  hills, 
Fancying  that  a  lovely  kingdom  there, 
Was  waiting  to  receive  my  eager  gaze. 
And  now  I  am  so  near  the  mystic  bourn 
Dividing  what  we  know  from  what  we  want 
To  know,  my  wish  has  languished  and  expired, 
And  I  would  rather  stay  right  here  with  you. 

ETHEL.     At  last  I  hope  you  will  be  one  of  us  — 
You  have  been  much  with  those  of  older  years, 
And  strained  your  mind  to  keep  within  their  field, 

36 


While   we  have   lagged   behind   without   a    thought. 
You  know  that  Frank  and  I  will  marry  soon 
Why  should  not  you  and  Eldred  do  the  same? 

DRESDA    (shaking   her   head).      It   is   too   late:    I   can   no 

longer  bear 

To  hear  a  word  of  any  kind  of  love. 
Distracted  love  has  brought  me  face  to  face 
With  death.     I  am  a  slender  sapling  tree 
Shattered   and   killed   by   passion's    stormy   blast. 

ETHEL.     A  rose  chopped  down  by  a  giant  tomahawk! 
But  with  the  roots  still  there,  it  will  grow  again. 
Your  friends  all  worked  to  bring  about  his  fall, 
And  it  came  much  sooner  than  we  dared  to  hope. 
Without  his  prized  degree  of  divinity, 
Jocelyn  Stanhope  must  forever  bow 
His  humbled  head,  and  leave  this  place  where  eyes 
Of  curious  gossips  pry  into  his  face, 
And  question  what  the  monstrous  crime  could  be. 
That  led  the  dons  to  drive  him  from  their  school. 

DRESDA   (looking  around  nervously  to  see  that  no  one  is 
looking).     Ethel!     I  have  not  told  you  what  he  said! 
He  put  the  blame  on  me,  unhappy  me. 
He  said  I  had  seduced  him  to  his  shame; — • 
You  know  I  ran  from  him  like  a  frightened  child, 
When  first  he  told  me  of  his  desperate  love, 
And  fled  to  Eldred  in  intense  alarm. 

(Enter  Eldred  as  the  last,  words  are  spoken.) 
And  yet  it  seems  I  was  the  unconscious  lure 
That  worked  such  havoc  with  poor  Jocelyn's  fame. 

ELDRED   (advancing  to  her).     And  why  not  run  to  Eldred 

now,  my  dear? 

Your  are  ill  and  pale,  so  overwrought  and  sad 
You  cannot  see  the  natural  hue  of  things. 
You  know  that  I  have'  loved  you  through  and  through, 
And  is  not  such  unchanging  love  a  wealth? 
He  kept  his  vow  of  vengeance  to  make  me  poor, 
But  could  not  change  the  purpose  of  my  love. 
Dresda,  just  be  a  simple  girl  for  once, 
And  come  with  me  to  the  little  church  where  Frank 
And  Ethel  will  make  their  marriage  bonds  next  week. 
We  shall  be  poor,  but  what  is  that,  my  dear? 
I  have  no  fear  of  labor's  arduous  way, — 
My  muscles  have  the  strength  of  iron  cords. 

DRESDA (  faintly).     Oh  don't!      You  make  it  all  so  much 

the  worse. 

I  could  not  love  you  any  more  than  Jocelyn, 
But  only  feared  you  less: — I  feel  such  guilt 
Towards  both  of  you.     Oh  why  is  life  so  hard? 
Why  does  our  dream  of  fairy  realms  superb 
Become  an  ashen  heap  in  actual  life? 

37 


A  thousand  bells  are  ringing  in  my  brain, 
But  for  all  their  sound,  they  make  no  harmony. 
I  feel  as  if  the  one  great  thing  for  me, 
Remaining  in  the  wreck  of  all  I  hoped, 
Would  be  a  burst  from  music's  beating  heart, 
Sung  by  a  perfect  choir  sent  from  Heaven. 

(She  has  been  looking  away  dreamily  as  she  says  this,  then 
returning  to  her  surroundings,  she  speaks  to  Ethel.) 
They  promised  me  at  the  church  below  the  hill, 
To  toll  the  steeple  bell  when  I  am  gone. 

EJ  DRED.     How  can  you  talk  of  death,  and  all  that  means, 
When  the  whole  world  is  ful  of  bridal  joy? 
I  hate  to  hurt  you  when  you  are  so  ill, 
But,  almost,  it  seems  to  me  you  turn 
Your  heart  from  clasp  of  ardent,  yearning  arms, 
And  pray  to  go  into  the  dark  beyond. 

DRESDA.    If  you  had  been  the  soul  that,  joined  to  mine, 
Was  destined  to  a  course  of  filmy  flame, 
Across  the  fields  of  Knowledge's  vast  domain, 
Through  -worlds  untraversed  yet  to  swing  afar, 
I  would  live  and  live  and  live  with  you  until 
The  seas  were  tired  of  their  ebb  and  flow, 
And  the  fertile  earth  forgot  to  yield  her  grain. 
He  did  not  come.     Instead,  I  stood  alone, 
While  round  my  head,  the  hurricane  of  wrong, 
Swept  in  a  fury  unrelenting,  strong, 
And  pounding  fiercely  on  the  fragile  walls 
Of  my  poor  heart,  quite  bruised  its  will  to  live. 

ELDRED.     A  hurricane!      Not  that!     A  human  fiend 
Was  the  avalanche  that  swept  your  being  down; 
And  I  with  you  was  drowned  and  hurled  along, 
Till  now  I  almost  stand  cast  down  like  you 
In  the  fetid  marsh  the  seducer  made  his  own. 

(Eldred  speaks  with  angry  tears  in  his  voice.) 
He  is  a  devil  come  on  earth,  I  know, 
To  steal  pure  girls  from  love  and  life  and  joy. 
I  worked  to  bring  about  his  fall,     li  came, — 
Yes,  came,  far  sooner  than  I  dared  to  hope, 
And  yet  it  came  too  late  for  you,  my  sweet. 
Why  now,  I  will  work  again  with  vim  increased, 
To  make  his  fall  a  thing  complete,— a  death! 

(Dresda  gives  a  faint  cry,  and  sinks  back  on  her  pillows 
with  a  ghastly  hue.     Ethel  rushes  to  her  in  alarm.) 

ETHEL.  Dresda!  Look  up!  You  faint!  Oh  don't!  Do 
speak! 

(Enter  Basil  and  Zenobia.) 

ZENOBIA.     What  have  you  done  to  make  my  birdie  faint? 

ETHEL  (starting  and  looking  frightened  and  abject  before 
Zenobia).  Oh  don't  blame  me, — I  tried  my  best  to 
soothe 

38 


Her  drooping  spirits, — Eldred  talked  to  her; 
Perhaps  she  felt  some  shock  from  his  bold  tongue. 
His  love  for  her  is  strong  and  unrestrained. 

DRESDA    (looking   up).      Mr.    Lindsay,   I   am    so   glad    that 
you  are  here. 

BASIL.      So    GLAD!      Your    words    like    nectar's    fountain 

flow! 

I  am,  you  know,  the  cushion  for  your  feet. 
I  never  made  a  single  claim  to  urge 
A  love  you  could  not  give.     I  am  too  coarse, 
For  a  being  rare  and  fine  nke  you;    the  moss 
Should  be  content  to  hold  the  tender  fern 
Of  feathery  maiden  hair  within  its  bed, 
And  never  ask  a  question  that  presumes. 

DRESDA (   smiling).     You  did  not  tell  me  of  those  stunted 

trees 

We  talked  about  a  year  ago;   and  yet, 
Without  your  help,  I  learned  some  sorry  things. 

BASIL.     I  fear  they  hurt  you  overmuch,  my  dear. 
A  little  girl  like  you  should  see  this  life, 
Where  grime  and  pain  so  large,  conspicuous,  lie, 
But  through  a  lens  of  soft,  diffusing  rays. 
I  gave  my  humble  self  for  such  a  lens, 
While  others  would   reveal  the  naked  light. 

DRESDA.     But  then,  my  friend,  I  wanted  so  to  learn! 

BASIL.     And   would   you   stand   on   the   desert's   scorching 

plain, 

To  look  at  torrid  noon,  right  in  the  sun, 
Until  his  kindling  glance  burned  through  your  soul 
And  consumed  your  body  in  its  blazing:  flame? 

DRESDA.     That  seems  to  be  the  thing  that  I  have  done! 

(She  starts  up  with  a  wild,  unearthly  look) 
These  bells,  these  bells,  forever  in  my  brain, 
They  ring  in  discord  harsh,  all  jangled  shrieks. 
Oh  don't  you  hear  them  now?     They  ring!     They  ring! 

(Zenobia    steps    forward    and    takes    Dresda    in    her    arms. 
The  girl  falls  back  in  a  half-faint.) 

ZENOBIA.      I   must    take   her   home, — there    are    too   many 
here. 

(Calls  a  servant  from  the  rear  of  the  stage.) 
Dodson!     Help  me  wheel  her  chair  inside. 

(They  all  look  wistfully  at  the  chair  as  it  is  being  wheeled 
off.) 

DRESDA    (turning  to   them  as   the   chair  goes  off).     Don't 

look  so  sad,  perhaps  at  last  I'll  fly 
To  those  far  lands  i  wanted  so  to  see, — 
The  silk  pavilions  in  the  amber  streams. 
The  home  of  love  where  love  is  never  pain. 
I'll  meet  you  there, — 

(Exit   Zenobia,   Dresda   and   the   servant   Dodson    wheeling 

39 


the  chair.) 

ETHEL  (bursting  into  tears).     I  hate  to  see  her  go, 
Because  I  know  it  is  the  very  end. 
IVTy  work  with  her  was  all  that  seemed  worth  while, 
I  was  the  instrument  her  slender  hands 
Touched   to  joy  or  sharp   discordant  notes. 
When  she  is  dead,  the  broken  strings  unfingered, 
Will  be  as  useless  as  old  bits  of  junk. 

(Enter  Frank,  alarmed  and  angry.) 

FRANK.     Why  do  you  cry  so  near  your  wedding  day? 

ETHEL.     I  have  looked  my  last  on  Dresda's  living  face. 

FRANK.     Don.'t  I  count  against  her  in  the  scale? 

ETHEL    (weeping   violently).     Why  you   are  just  my  hus 
band,  that  is  all; 
She  was  the  lignt  by  which  I  walked  the  earth. 

(Frank  draws  her  aside.) 

BASIL.     There  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  a  down-hill  grade, 
I  panted  by  her  side  a  little  way, 
On  that  steep  climb  her  ardent  mind  so  craved; 
But  now  i  see  in  front  a  sheer  descent 
Into  the  void  of  low,  material  things. 

ELDRED.     What  is  left  for  me  is  just  my  sweet  revenge! 
Let  vengeance  cold  as  ice  and  sharp  as  steel, 
Dry  up  the  juices  of  my  human  heart! 

(Enter  Jocelyn.  He  looks  very  pale  and  haggard,  with  big 
black  circles  around  his  kead^yw.His  hair  has  turned  from 
silver  to  snow  white,  and  he  is  thin  and  stooped.) 

ELDRED    (to  Jocelyn).     I  wonaer  how  you  dare  to  haunt 
this  place! 

JOCELYN.     I   come   to   make   my   terms   with   you,   young 

man! 

It  is  nothing  new  that  an  insect  in  the  ground 
Can  work  enough  decay  to  overthrow 
A  throne:    the  miracle  remains  that  yet 
The  world  goes  forward  at  such  a  tortoise  pace! 
The  study  and  laborious  work  of  years, 
My  mind's  deep  grasp  of  newer  truths  to  come, 
My  heart's  rich  longing  for  a  perfect  love, 
Were  all  condemned  to  fail  because  a  cub 
Like  you,  must  spend  his  jealous,  scalding  gpleen 
In  low  attack  upon  my  moral  fame! 

ELDRED.  Tet  when  I  made  my  charge,  I  scarcely  thought 
To  find  myself  so  justified!  You  car! 

(He  approaches  Jocelyn  with  a  violent  gesture,  as  if  he 
would  strike  him.  Basil  and  Frank  approach  and  hold  him 
back,  and  Ethel  stands  at  a  little  distance  terrified.) 

BASIL.    It  is  true  we  thought  you  were  not  good  enough 
To  hold  the  office  of  a  sainted  man. 
We  planned  a  bit  to  overthrow  your  fame, 
But  worked  no  wheels  to  bring  that  end  about. 

40 


Your  dismissal  came  before  our  schemes  were  ripe. 
It  was  you  who  made  your  own  unlucky  star, 
When  you  followed  Dresda  to  the  Yosemite. 

ELDRED.  How  strange  the  dons  allowed  you  to  remain 
So  long,  with  sin  so  black  upon  your  soul! 

ETHEL.     Oh  don't!     How  can  you  fight  like  that  just  now? 

JOCELYN.     Xo  time  so  good  as  the  one  we  have  at  hand. 
The  indignity  I  feel  quite  cuts  me  through, — • 
[  toss  back  insults  to  a  foolish  boy! 

ELDRED.     You  did  not  talk  of  youth  that  way  this  Spring, 
When  you  paid  your  awkward  court  of  middle  age. 
To  Dresda's  girlish   loveliness  divine. 

(.His  voice  is  choked  with  tears  of  rage  and  grief.  As  he 
ceases  speaking  there  is  the  loud,  emphatic  stroke  of  a. 
church  bell.  They  all,  except  Jocelyn,  stand  transfixed  with 
a  look  of  agony  on  their  faces.  Jocelyn  looks  bewildered 
and  alarmed.  The  sky  is  overcast  and  dark  with  leaden 
gray  clouds  and  impending  thunder.  The  bell  tolls  22  times, 
each  stroke  being  loud,  heavy  and  distinct.  Frank,  Eldred 
and  Basil  uncover  their  heads  as  the  tolling  goes  on,  and 
Jocelyn  still  in  bewilderment,  follows  them.  As  the  bell 
stops  Ethel  begins  to  weep  violently.) 

JOCELYN.     There  is  a  funeral  taking  place  this  hour? 

ELDRED    (grimly).     A   funeral?     No,   a    death!      The   bell 

has  tolled 
For  Dresda  Winrising.  my  angel,  killed  by  you! 

(He  bows  his  head   in  uncontrollable  affliction.) 

JOCELYN   (wildly).     No,  no,  you  cannot  mean  that  she  is 
dead? 

ETHEL.     You  heard  the  strokes, — they  were  twenty-two, — 

her  age. 

It  was  her  fancy  to  have  the  tolling  bell 
Just  as  she  crossed  the  fine  dividing  line 
Between  this  earth  and  whatever  comes  beyond. 
She  was  here  before  you  came  and  said  good-bye. 

JOCELYN.     And  no  one  told  me  that  her  end  was  near! 
My  God,  I  am  indeed  a  punished  man! 
Bereft  of  every  prize  that  life  can  give; 
Not  even  given  one  last  word  of  love! 
,  (He  staggers  and  looks  half  dazed.) 
Why — why — how  black  the  sky  has  grown! 
Suppose  there  is  no  such  thing  as  heaven  above, 
But  just  the  heaven  I  saw  within  her  eyes? 
Oh  what  is  heaven  or  earth  or  anything 
Now  she  has  gone?     Twenty-two!      The  bell 
Will  ring  forever  in  my  reeling  brain! 

(Enter  Zenobia  with  a  white  drawn  face.) 

ZENOBIA.     My  Dresda  is  dead!     My  little  girl,  my  love, 
My  more  than  child  has  closed  her  azure  eyes. 
Those  eyes  whose  pure  cerulean  blue  looked  out 

41 


With  a  smile  like  flowers  that  bloom  in  eternal  day 
Have  closed.     I  saw  their  heavenly  glance  depart, 
And  the  dull  grey  glaze  of  death  sweep  o'er  their  iris? 

(She  covers  her  face  with  her  hands.) 
Forgetfulness,  I  now  implore  your  aid, 
To  wipe  that  picture  from  my  aching  brain! 

(Ethel,  Basil,  Frank  and  Eldred  approach  her  in  an  awe- 
stricken  manner,  and  Jocelyn  stands  at  a  distance  looking 
dazed  and  wild.) 

FRANK.     She  seemed  so  strong  last  year,  so  full  of  joy, 
There  seems  no  reason  for  her  sad  decline. 

ZENOBIA.     No  reason?     Then  your  memory  is  poor. 
Like  hungry  bears  who  would  claw  at  priceless  lace, 
To  clutch  the  living  throat  of  the  one  it  clothed, 
You  men  stretched  clumsy,  brutal  hands  to  tear 
Her  beauty  from  the  shining  soul  it  framed. 

FRANK   (indignantly).     You  dare  not  count  my  brother  in 
that  herd! 

BASIL.     I  was  content  to  be  beneath  her  feet, 
The  basest  thing  that  crawled,  whose  pleasure  lay 
In  looking  up  to  her  transcendent  height. 

ELDRED.     I  never  stood  in  your  good  books,  I  know, — 
But  my  love  for  her  was  of  the  sacred  stripe. 
I  fought  to  save  her  from  her  dearest  foe, — • 
This  would-be  saint  who  stares  as  if  his  wits 
Had  gone.     See  him  there  in  blank  amaze, 
Confounded  by  the  news  of  Dresda's  death! 

ZENOBIA  (turning  to  Jocelyn).     It  seems  the  agony  I  had 

with  you, 

In  that  garden,  gay  and  sad,  like  a  torture-hell, 
Was  all  in  vain,  for  you  are  so  obtuse 
You  would  not  see  your  doom,  though  dark  it  stood, 
One  foot  before  your  face!     My  darling  died, 
The  victim  of  your  wild  delusion's  might, 
The  momentum  of  your  devouring  love  of  self, 
Beating  upon  her  shy  reluctant  heart. 

ELDRED.     If  it  would  bring  her  back  to  life  again, 
I  would  cast  him  from  me  like  an  orange  peel. 
But  with   the   thought  of  Dresda,   dead — quite  dead, — 
I  feel  that  I  could  choke  him  where  he  stands. 

(Jocelyn  advancing  to  them  still  with  a  wild,  strange  look 
and  stretching  out  his  hands  to  them  piteously.) 

JOCELYN.     Don't  talk  that  way  to  me, — if  you  could  see 
The  black  abyss  in  which  my  soul  has  sunk, 
You  would  shriek  for  very  pity's  sake,  for  shame, 
That  you  could  so  beat  a  man  despised  of  God, 
A  man,  or  less  than  man, — I  cannot  tell — 
Who  shudders  in  his  own  contempt, — who  loathes 
His  very  name  and  face,  and  would  run  in  fright 
From   the   revealings  of  a  tell-tale,  mocking  mirror. 

42 


I  wanted  to  find  the  good,  the  high,  the  true. 

I  did, — I  did, — I  had  no  priest   for  guide. 

But  just  that  fair  young  girl  in  whom  I  thought 

I  saw  the  hope  divine,  the  only  chance 

Of  this  poor  stricken  world,  condemned  to  vice. 

And  doleful  nothingness.     Then  passion  came, 

And  caught  me  in  its  mad  ecstatic  grip. 

They  speak  in  physics  of  a  force  so  strong, 

It  is  irresistible, — it  was  that  I  felt — 

Dragged  from  my  anchor  of  a  student's  life, 

By  a  magnet  drawn  through  whirling  space  to  hell 

I  could  not  stop.     She  held  my  heart  bound  fast, — 

(His  voice  grows  feeble,  husky  and  far  away.) 
And  now, — and  now.  the  valves  will  work  no  more: 
I  drew  my  life  from  her,  as  a  little  child 
At  the  mother's  breast.     I  can't  go  on  without 
That  pure  rich  stream  of  living  light  sublime. 

(They    stand    looking   at    him    in    a    frightened,    awe-struck 
manner.) 
Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  you  are  avenged! 

What  lower  thing  has  ever  been  produced, 
Than  one  who  lives  to  hate  his  inmost  self, 

Who  knows  that  he  can  never  stand  alone, 

But  must  depend  for  his  very  breath  of  life, 

Upon  a  girl, — a  young,  young  girl, — 

WTho  died  despising  him, — a  girl  who  is  dead! 

(He   breaks   into  passionate   sobs,  and  falls   on  his  knees. 

The  sky  grows  darker  and  more  overcast.     The  group  press 

more  closely  about,  him.) 

JOCELYN.     And  thus  my  fateful  end  now  comes  upon  me, 

My  enemies  in  joy  of  hate  about  me, 

And  darkest  night,  within,  above,  around! 

I  die  in  darkness  and  alone!     My  Dresda! 

(He  sinks  on  the  ground.     They  stand  silent  for  a  moment, 

then  Eldred  bends  over  the  prostrate  figure.) 

ELDRED.     He  too  is  dead!     Poor  wretch!     I  wisheu  it  so! 
ZENOBIA.     Her  death  was  not  like  this,— I  still  can  hope 

Her  spirit  has  flown  to  purer  spheres  than  this, 

Translated  from  our  earth,  for  her  too  gross, 

And  passing  with  the  music  of  the  bells. 

But  he,  too  good  for  straight,  untutored  paths, 

Was  yet  not  good  enougn  to  touch  her  wings 

Of  pearly  white. 

(There  is  a  peal  of  thunder  and  the  sky  is  dark  except  for 

a  beam  of  greenish  light  on  Zenobia  and  the  body  of  Jocelyn.) 

He  died  of  a  broken  heart, 

And  died  alone, — A  priest  and  fiend  in  one! 

Jocelyn  Stanhope,  I  forgive  you  now. 

(She  kneels   down  and  bends  over  him   with   infinite   pity 

as  the  curtain  descends.)  CURTAIN. 

43 


THE  SPELL  OF   BRONZE. 

A   Tragedy    in    Four   Acts. 

SCENES. 

ACT       I. — The    garden    and    grounds    of    a    summer- resort    in 

the  Napa  Valley,  California. 

ACT     II. — A  vineyard  and  winery  in  the    Napa  Valley. 
ACT  III. — The  town  of  Santa  Rosa,  California. 
ACT  IV. — A   thicket   at   the   base  of   Mount    St.   Helena. 
CHARACTERS. 

Oriel,    a    maiden. 

Emanuel,   a   sage. 

Lucius,  a  doctor. 

Sibyl,  an  octoroon. 

Andrew,  a  dandy. 

Sophia,  a  girl   eager  to  marry. 

Valeri,  a  vineyardist. 

Time:     The  present. 

ACT     I. 

(Scene,  the  grounds  and  garden  of  a  summer-resort  in  the 
Napa  Valley,  California.  A  bowling  alley  in  the  near  dis 
tance  behind  the  trees.  Oriel  is  seated  in  a  hammock  rest 
lessly  swinging  herself.) 

ORIEL.     The  days  go  by  in  flitting  loveliness, 
This  land  a  wizard   with  its  fruits  and  trees, 
To  charm  me  into  wasteful  idleness 
And   lure  my   spirit   from   its  higher  aims. 
The  very  insects  with   their  drowsy   hum, 
Infuse  the  hazy  air  with  love  of  sloth; 
The  pictured  scene  of  mountain,  vale  and  brook, 
Now  rocks  my  senses  in  a  strange  repose. 
Is   it   right   to   yield   to   Nature's    soft   appeal, 
And  dull  the  voice  that  calls  to  sterner  things? 
Shall  I  leave  these  vineyards  and  this  lulling  ease, 
For   battle    in    the    City's    throng,    perhaps 
Amid  the  poor,  or  in  the  crimson  path 
Of  crime?     Who  knows  which  way  is  right  or  where 
The  heart  finds   surer  rest,  in   contemplation 
Serenely   rapt   mid   meadows   ever   green, 
And  sweet  content  of  bird  and  bee  and  man 
Or  plunging  in  the  rapid  swirl  of  strife? 
Here  comes  the  Sage,  whose  wisdom  most  profound 
Might  solve  the  doubt,  dispel  the  gloom  that  rests 
Like   spiders'    webs   upon   my   summer   mood. 

(Enter  Emanuel.) 

Dear    Sage,    now    pardon    my    intrusion    rude, 
But  may  I  talk  with  you  and  glance — just  glance — 
Into  the  varied  treasures  of  your  mind? 
Our   lovely    scene   is   not   enough,   my    brain 

44 


Craves    touch    with   something   new   and    far   and    strange. 
Dear   Sage, — ah, — I    fear    I    see   you    laugh, 
But  tell  me  how  to  fill  the  vacant  hours. 

EMANUEL.     I   must   confess   I  hear  you   with    surprise. 
Your   youth   and   beauty   mark   out   your  career. 
Wisdom's  reign  is  slight  compared  to  love, 
But    conquer    man    and    all    the    rest    will    come; 
Your  path  unbounded  lies  in  groves  where  1 
Can   only  follow.     Our  sex— so  clear  To  us,— 
Is  for  the  woman-mind  a   strange  enigma. 

ORIEL.     I    fear    you    mock   me   from    your    quiet    height, 
To   test   my    strength.     For    little    minds,    the    love 
You  praise  is  fit,  but  not  for  me.     I  want 
A   higher   pitch   and   nobler   work    to   buoy 
My    flagging  heart   and   keep   me   ever   sure 
My   life  is   not   an    empty    breath    of   days. 
A    wave    that    heedless    comes    and    heedless    goes. 

EMANUEL.     You  would  not   see  the  nugget  at  your  feet, 
For  peering  at  the  bird  in   distant,   flight, 
In   ether  disappearing   while   you   gaze 
On  endless  stretch  of  blue.     You  seem  to  scorn 
Young   Lucius  here  whose  eyebeams  never   tire 
Of    resting   on    your    snowy    check.     He    is 
Not   dull.     You    might    explore   his    mind   and   light 
His   dimness  with  your  own  bright   ray  of  thought. 

ORIEL  (playfully.)  Such  flatter}*  does  not  well  become 
your  age, 

You   challenge   me   to   sport   of   butterflies, 
And  if  I  follow  where  you  lead,   what  then? 

EMANUEL.     Why  then,  you  will  have  forgotten  Emanuel. 

(Exit  Emanuel.  Oriel  stands  for  a  moment  dreamily  watch 
ing  his  retreating  footsteps.  Enter  Lucius.) 

LUCIUS.     I  would  say  good  afternoon,  but.  fear  your  wrath. 

ORIEL  (turning  towards  him  with  a  pleasant  smile  of 
greeting  and  outstretched  hand.)  I  have  no  anger. — not  even 
for  a  snake. 

LUCIUS.     A  snake?     Your  comparison  is  apt.     Perhaps 
You  see  in  me  a  glide,  reptilian,  low? 

ORIEL.     Are  you   so  bonded   to  suspicion's  thrall 
That  you  fancy  slights  where  none  exists? 
I   spoke  in  general;    my   thought  of  you 
Was  kind.     The  Sage  has  spoken  of  your  worth. 

LUCIUS  (his  face  darkening.)  My  worth?  You  swear  he 
took  no  other  theme? 

ORIEL.     He  spoke  but  little — oh — I  would  know  much  more, 
You  look  too  strong  for  dalliance  here,  do  tell 
Me   why  you  came   this   way  for  holiday? 

LUCIUS.     I  am  a  doctor,  here  for  sake  of  change. 
Of  body  tired  never,  of  soul  I  am 
So  sick,  I  feign  would  seek  a  novel  thrill, 

45 


Something  to  vary  the  taste  of  common  life. 
The    City    teems    with    feeble   folk,    so   weak 
Their    minds    dwell    ever    on    their   own    complaints. 
I   ache  for  sight  of  something  rare  and   bright, 
For  glimpse   of  beauty   and  for  chance  to   rise, 
To  rise  above  the  ordinary  plain 
Where  little  tired  men  fractious  fret. 

ORIEL    (with    animation.)     How    strange!     You    voice    my 
own   most   inmost   thought ! 
Is  it   the  time's   unrest  or  just  a   chance, 
That  you  and  I  survejr  the  self-same  field? 

LUCIUS;     Ah,  nay,  my  lady  dear;   't  is  not  the  same. 
You  know  that  I  am  not  like  you.     Your  eyes 
Must    pierce   the   veil    that,   darkly   hangs   between 
Your    soul    and    mine.     Like    summer    sunlight"  dancing 
At  play  in  mountain  pools  your  spirit  blithe 
Sports    ever    mid    the    things    of   joy    and    lends 
Its    radiance    to    the    darkest    hidden    vale: 
While    midnight    would    more    readily    describe 
The  heritage  of  sadness  that  weighs  me  down, 
And  turns  to  gall  the  very  voice  of  Spring. 
Your  feelings   move  like   spreading  branches  sweet 
Of  fragrant  bay-trees,   scattering  shade,   while  light, 
And  taste  and   smell,  regaled,   in   them   rejoice. 
Alas!     You   see   in   me  instead   the   roots, 
The  part  that  lives  beneath  the  earth  nor  dares 
To  peep  above  the  ground  or  to  intrude 
Upon   the   laughing  face   of  field   and    sky. 

ORIEL    (gayly.)     Is    that    the    way    I    look    through    other's 
eyes? 

I   think   you   all    conspire   to   make   me   vain, 
And   yet  it  seems  you  give  yourself  the   best, — 
The   loveliest   flower   must   first  have   roots   in   earth, 
Before  it  springs   into   its  perfumed   sway. 
Come,   come,   be   you    the   bay-tree,   large  and    strong, 
While  I  will  be  a  plant  of  humbler  birth, 
The   slender   brier   sweet,   yet   many   thorned, 
Or   yonder  peeping   pansy    staring   wide. 
And   as   we   are   alike,   yet,   not   alike, 
Let  us  begin  our  search  for  wonder-land; 
You  say  you  long  to  rise,  now  I  would   soar 
Into  the  very  dome  of  Heaven,  the  blue 
That  stretches  vast,  unknown  above  our  heads. 

LUCIUS.     The  first  great  step  must  be  the  eclispe  of  fear. 

ORIEL    (laughs  defiantly.)     Why  fear?     I  have  no   knowl 
edge  of  the  word. 

(Enter  Sibyl.     She  stands  at  a  little  distance  in  a  listening 
attitude.) 

LUCIUS.     Knowing  not  fear  you  are  a  child  unborn. 
Sibyl's  lips  would  tell  another  tale. 

46 


She   is   your   friend? 

ORIEL.     Why  yes  and  no;    we  met 
But   yesterday;    she  is  so  dazzling  bright. 
Her  eyes  so  glowing  brown,  her  hair  like  bronze, — 
As  bronze  as  yours, — you  look  a  bit  a  like. 

LUCIUS   (angrily.)     You  dream!     She  is  a  woman  through 
and  though 

Her  features  soft  with  Nature's  rosy  hues. 
Though   otherwise   I   lack,   I    am    a   man. 

ORIEL.     My  lightest  word  still  works  in  you  offense; 
I'll  go  to  cool   my  spirit  on   the  top 
Of  yonder  mountain  where  it  hits  the  sky. 
Perchance  the  vast  long  view  of  velvet  woods. 
That    move    as    if    by    gentle    music    swayed, 
Will  give  me  eyes  to  read  your  soul  aright. 
Adieu. 

(Exit    Oriel.     Sibyl    advances    to    Lucius.) 

SIBYL    (frowning   darkly.)      I   might   have   known   that    you 
would  lie; 

That    under    flattery's    magic    touch    you'd    reel. 
You  said  you  would  but  think  of  her  as  prey,— 
I  see  you  gaze  upon  her  love-ensnared; 
And  I  am  forced  to  play  the  monitor. 

LUCIUS.     You  mean  you  take  yourself  the  place  of  spy. 
I  will  not  be  in  bond  to  you  or  her, 
Or   any   other;    my   aim    is   to   be   free. 
My  mind  may  rove  as  rove  it   will  at  large, 
And  if  I  choose  to  play  at  love,  well  then, 
'Tis  no  affair  of  yours. 

SIBYL.     If  I  were  sure 

You  only  PLAYED  at  love,  I'd  be  content. 
I  am  not  sure;   I  can't  believe;   I  know 
Temptation's   honey   is   on   her   marble   brow. 
Her  icy  ease,  her  lofty  pride,  so  white, — 

LUCIUS.     So  white!     Oh,   do  not  speak   that   word   again; 
You  would  pull  me  back  to  you,  your  dusky  beauty 
Glories  in  its  own  dark  blaze;   you  think 
That  you  and  I  are  one,  a  link  of  death 
Fast  uniting  us   like  corpse  and   coffin 
Dropped  into  the  moldy  depths  of  clay. 
(With  passionate  angry  vehemence.) 
No,  no,  I  swear  to  you  I  will  be  free, 
From  you  and  all  your  race,  from  all   the  hopes 
That  lit  our  fathers'  path,  our  mothers'  woe. 
I  am  so  strong  in  my  own  might  and   right, 
I  dare  to'  stand  alone  without  a  past. 
My  father's  ardent  ghost  will  be  no  goad 
To  drive  me  on  the  swamps  where  he  expired, 
Nor  will  my  mother's  blood  find  voice  in  me. 
Alone  I  go  my  way,  alone  I  plough 

47 


The  fields  of  this   uncertain,   perilous   life. 
For  you,  my  only  thought  is  one  of  pity. 

SIBYL.     You  may  leap  and  vault  and  madly  try  u>  climb. 
And  hurl   your   savage   pity   at   my   head. 
Escape  is  not  for  you.     Your  parents  hold 
The   sceptre  o'er   your  head,  with   me  they  claim 
Your  best  endeavor.     You   are  mine,   in   love, 
In  life,  in  hope,  in  all  we  hope  to  win. 

(She  embraces  him  as  a  mother  would  a  child.) 
We'll   play   the  game   together   yet,   proud   heart, 
Just  you  and  I  with  all  the  rest  against. 
And  in  the  darkness  of  our  love  so  dim, 
So  strangely  formed  from  out,  our  muddy   birth, 
Will  glow  in  fight  the  lambent  flames  of  hate. 
Revenge  remains  for  all  our  days  a  task. 
Oh  look!   there  Andrew  comes  into  my  lure. 

(Enter  Andrew.     He  looks     thin  and  pale  and  sick,  but    is 
jauntily  dressed  like  a  modern  dandy.) 

LUCIUS.     To  live   but  for   revenge   is   savage  taste. 
I  would  not  gain  my  end  by  others'  hurt. 
Humble,  they   should  bend   the  knee   before    I    strike; 
Pursue   your  own   device;    leave  me   to   mine. 

(Exit     Lucius.     Andrew    approaches    Sibyl.) 

SIBYL.     I   am   so  glad   your   happy   face   appears. 
The  gloom  of  Lucius  weighs  me  down  with  pain. 
His  blood   runs   bile  and   jaundice  films  his   eye. 

ANDREW.     He  may  be  pining  for  a  scornful   girl. 

SIBYL.     You   think  he  is  loo  much   with    Oriel? 

ANDREW.     With    Oriel!     You   tempt   me   to  the  brink 
Of   compliment, — as    if   you    were   not    all 
The   beauty    that    this    county    boasts   to-day! 

SIBYL.     Oh,  no,  I  am  not  fair,  my  eyes  are  brown. 

ANDREW.     A  blonde  is  tame.     I  would  not  turn  my  head 
To  mark  a  cold,  pale  cheek  and  frozen  glance. 
In  you  the  ruby  glows,  life's  warming  fire. 

SIBYL.     And  you  would  rather  burn  than  die  of  cold! 

ANDREW.     I  feel  a   stronger  man   when   you   are   near. 
If  I  am  headlong  at  the  game  of  love 
Forgive   me,  for  my  method   is  that  way. 

SIBYL.     You  think  to  run  a  race  against  the  men 
Who  dozens  deep  surround   me  day  by  day, 
And    beg    one    little    word    of    promised    love? 
In  what  do  you  excel  that  thus  you  aim? 

ANDREW.     I   boast   some   place  in   choice   society, 
I  often  dine  among  the  rich  and  smart. 
My  father  stands  in  commerce  well  enough, 
In  church  we  all  are  held  in  some  esteem. 

SIBYL.     You   dazzle  me  by   such  a  list  of  wealth — 
You  dine, — you  go  to  church, — you  are  esteemed, — • 
And   yet   you   love   poor    Sibyl!     I   am   amazed. 

48 


ANDREW.     But  wait  a  month  or  two, — I  will  propose! 
I  think  that  marriage  is  the  very  thing 
To  rouse  me  now  that  dancing  has  grown  stale. 
I  need  a  little  time  to  think  but  you 
Meanwhile  will  hold  me  in  your  mind,  a  chance! 

SIBYL.     Oh,  do  not  be  too  sure!     Your  rivals  stand 
Before  you,  grim,arrayed,  there's  Lucius  now. 
He  mourns,  but  sadness  once  cast  off.  beware! 

ANDREW.     I  will  not  leave  this  place,  no  fear.     Why  see 
How  late  it  grows!     I  must  go  and  nap  awhile 
Before  the  call  to  dine  an  hour  from  now. 

(Exit  Andrew.     Sibyl   left  alone  in   soliloquy.) 

SIBYL.     I   could    laugh    and   laugh   and    laugh    to   see   him 
woo, 

Did  not  the  satire  burn  into  my  heart. 
To  think  that  I  should  stoop  to  lend  my  ear 
To  such  a  puny  thing  while  Lucius  stands 
Aloof  in  haughty   silence  hating   me. 
The  one  a  trampled  blade  of  grass  compared 
To  the  other's  mighty   spreading  branch   of  oak; 
A    whimpering   cur   beside   a   lion   august; 
A  stagnant  city  pool  beside  a  sea; 
And  yet  and  yet  the  little  one  is  white; 
No  stain  of  brown  is  in  his  veins,  no  taint 
Of  mixture   twixt  the   races   of  this  land! 
So  must  I  bend  my  neck  to  Andrew's  yoke. 
Pretend  to  love  what  I  can  only  loathe, 
And  cringe  to  pure  white  blood  in  empty  shell, 
Because,  oh  God,  I,  too,  am  partly  black! 
He  not  knowing  that  adores  my  face, 
My  sparkling  eyes,  my  warm  and  glowing  cheeks. 
And  if  he  knew?     And  if  proud  Oriel  knew? 
Would  Lucius   still  hold   for  her  ais  potent  spell? 
In  face  of  this,   'tis  madness  to  be  good: 
Cast  out  revenge  he  said,  oh  saint-like  man, 
Though  prostrate  at  your  feet,  I  cannot  obey. 
Oh  Lucius,  Lucius,  stay  with  me,  oh  stay: 

(She  gives  a  prolonged  wail  and  leans  against  a  tree,  hiding 
her  face  in  its  bark.) 

(Enter  Sophia.     She  is  nice-looking  and  distinguished,  but 
not  handsome.) 

SOPHIA.     You  looked  so  lonely  that  I  ventured  near; 
Tell  me  your  sorrows,  dear,  the  tree  is  deaf, 
You'll  find  no  comfort  in  its  roughened  bark. 

SIBYL.     I  sought  no  comfort  for  I  have  need  of  none; 
My  eyes  were  aching  from  the  glare,  that's  all. 

SOPHIA.     Indeed?     Where  are  the  men? 

SIBYL.     Why,  I  don't  know. 
Three   women  and  two  men,  I  must  be  odd. 
With  you  Miss  Oriel  will  divide  the  spoils, — 

49 


I'll  watch  the  sport  but  never  enter  in. 

SOPHIA.     It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  the  lonely  one. 
I  have  my  trunks  all  packed  with  pretty  gowns, 
And  thought  to  spend  a  summer  full  of  fun, 
But  every  one  is  chill, — and  selfish,  too. 
You  say  that  you  are  odd,  yet  the  pale,  thin  man 
Is  at  your  side  obedient  day  and  night. 
Oriel  likes  the  ancient  sage,  while  I — 

SIBYL.     While   you   seem  fitted   more  to   Lucius'   taste. 
Why  over  there  by  himself  he  plays  at  bowls, — • 
Look  through  the  trees  and  see  his  stalwart  form 
Outlined;   he  is  a  rarely  handsome  man. 
F  have  known  him  long, — but  as  a  sister  may. 

Lucius! 

LUCIUS    (from   a   distance.)     Who   spoke?     Did   some   one 
call  my  name? 

SIBYL.     Come  here,  we  women  find  it  very  dull. 

(Re-enter   Lucius.) 

This  lady  thinks  that  Napa's  very  tame. 
We  would  not  have  her  leave  condemning  us, 
Let's  show  we  can  be  merry,  dance  and  sing, 
Trip  through  the  woods  on  skipping,  velvet  toes, 
Like  gnomes  or  fairies  in  the  children's  tales. 
Xow    where's    my    wand? 

SOPHIA.     Oh/  yes,    let's   frolic    some! 

LUCIUS.     Perhaps  you'd  like  to  play  a  game  of  bowls? 

SOPHIA   (eagerly.)     I've  never  played  but  I  could  quickly 
learn. 

SIBYL.     A  game  for  two — you  do  not  want  me  then— 
I'll  look  for  Oriel  and  Andrew,  too. 
We'll   win   them  to   our  festive   purpose   now; 
Our  energies   combined  we'll   shake  the   hills 
With  laughter  blithe.     The  birds  will  trill  with  us, 
And  echo  will,  awaked,  new  music  try. 

(Exit   Sibyl,   laughing  hysterically.) 

LUCIUS.     I  suppose  you  think  her  very  wild  and  strange? 

SOPHIA.     I  do  not  mind — she  is  your  friend. 

LUCIUS.     My   friend! 

Oh,  yes,  we  all  are  friends,  come  now,  you  too, 
Are  in  this  summer  commonwealth,  with  us 
Agreed  to  live  the  law   of  equal   rights. 

SOPHIA.     Of  equal  rights?     Oh,  no.     As  if  I  saw 
No  difference  twixt  you  and  other  men! 
We  can  play  at  being  friends  just  for  the  nonce — 
But  still  I  mark  the  tight-drawn  laws  of  caste. 

LUCIUS    (biting  his   lip.)     What   caste   am   I? 

SOPHIA.     Why  doctors  are  on  top, 
For  learning,  social  poise  and  all  the  rest, — 
Besides  you  look — 

LUCIUS.     Let's  hurry  to  our  game, 

50 


i   nerd  not   ask  your  caste,  your  face  proclaims 
Your  birth  from  out  our  country's  ancient  stock;  — 
How  well  your  gown  becomes  your  slender  grace! 

SOPHIA.     I  love  to  hear  you  speak,  go  on,  go  on: 
Your  voice  is  rich  and  full  like  organ  tones. 

LUCIUS.     Oh,  that  is  habit  won  among  tne  sick: 
The  doctor's  task  you  know  is  one  to  soothe. 
He  brings  to  racking  pain  a  tender  voice. 
Now  come,  you   look  a  little  pale,  shall  I 
Apply  my   skill  and   bring  your  color  back? 

SOPHIA     (dimpling    and    smiling.)     Why    yes — and — no— I 
seem  to  hesitate,— 

There  is  a  languor  in  my  blood,  I  own, 
Hut  I'll  not  speak  of  that  nor  of  your  skill — 
I'll  find  my  health  in  friendship  and   bright   talk. 

LUCIUS.     There  is  a  tonic  far  exceeds  all  these 
To  bring  the  flush  of  morn  to  maidens'  cheeks, 
And   make   them    tread   elastic  on   the  heath 
And  up  the  terraced  mountain  height  like  fawns. 
One  medicine   strong,  and  only  one,   I  know 
To  make  young  blood  like  ichor  of  the  gods, 
And  give  to  dullest  eyes  the  gleam  of  stars. 
Now  guess,  what  magic  potion  do  I  mean; 

SOPHIA    (coquettishly.)     I    can't    for    I'm    not    learned    in 
gypsy   lore, 

1  am  a  stranger  in  this  country  here, 
And  could  not  call  a  single  flower  by  name. 
But  I  would  like  my  eyes  to  gleam  like  stars, — 
Perhaps  you   give  a   little  dose, — 

LUCIUS.     Why  not? 

(Approaching  and  bending  over  her.) 
My  heart  oe'rflows  with  tremblings  of  sweet  love, 
Awaits  a  moment  to  burst  forth  in  glee 
Upon   an  answering  heart.     You   want   to  learn 
The  game  of  bowls?     Come  here  beneath  the  shade 
Of  that  great  maple  tree  where  we'll  be  hid 
From  the  sun  now  grown  so  warm  with  ebbing  day. 

(They  withdraw  to  a  little  distance.     Enter  Sibyl.     She  is 
joined  after  a  moment  by  Oriel.) 

ORIEL.     I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  talk  with  you, 
Yet  toward  your  face  I  have  been  strangely  drawn. 
From   some  past   dream  your  eyes  now  look  at  me. 
You  may  have  sat  to  some  rapt  artist's  brush, 
Or  had  your  prototype  upon  the  stage. 

SIBYL    (on    the   defensive.)     I    am   no   artist's    model,    nor 
would  I  be 

An  actress  bold  and  gay:    you  wish  to  peer 
Into  the  past  to  prove  I  speak  the  truth? 

ORIEL.     No,  no:  I  meant  to  speak  in  terms  of  praise. 
Your  beauty  wrought,  in  me  such  frank  delight, 

51 


It  seemed  to  haunt  me  like  an  afterglow 

From  some  great  picture  dreamed  or  seen  long  since. 

One  searches  far  and  long  for  any  glimpse 

Of  loveliness  to  invite  a  challenge  rare, 

And  when  one  sees  it,  well,  one  must  exclaim! 

SIBYL.     You  have  a  pretty  trick  of  speech,   but  why 
You  deign  to  waste  your  eloquence  on  me 
I  cannot  fathom,  unless  you  fear  my  power. 
I  never  trust  a  woman's  honeyed  tongue, — 
Still  less  I  trust  it  when  a  man  is  near. 

ORIEL.     That  kind  of  talk  is  good  for  baby  minds. 

SIBYL.     You    scoff— 'tis    very    easy — look    through    those 
trees — • 

(Indicating  Lucius  and  Sophia.) 
Now  would  you  trust  a  woman  smiling  so? 

ORIEL    (contracting  her  brows.)     It   is  a  brilliant   day  to 
play  a  game, 
I  hope  that  she  is  on  the  winning  side. 

SIBYL.     You.    speak    your    rival    fair.     Her   counter-charms 
Awake  no  terror  in  your  jealous  mind? 

ORIEL    (indignantly.)     I  pray  you  change  that,  ugly  mode 
of  speech. 
What   can   you    mean? 

SIBYL.     Just  Lucius,  that  is  all. 
He  was  my  friend,  and  only  mijie,  before 
The   opening   of   this    summer   trip,   and    now 
It  seems  I  own  a  third  in  his  esteem. 

ORIEL  (sharply.)     You  are  his  promised  wife? 

SIBYL.     Oh,  no,  not   that: 
I  only  hold  the  keys  to  his  past  life; 
I  only  know  the  reason  that  he  walks 
So  soft  amid  the  dipping  women-kind 
Who  worship  him  and  fall  upon  their  knees 
If  he  but  throws  to  them  a  faded  flower. 
I  only  laugh  when  he  goes  on  and  on 
Amid    the    conquering    ruin    that    he    makes: 
An  empire's  sometimes  won  from  women's  sins. 

ORIEL  (slowly  and  emphatically.)     An  empire's  oftener  lost 
from  man's  conceit. 
He  is  too  noble  to  live  but  to  betray — 
Even  to-day  he  shunned  the  downward  course, 
And  sought  instead  to  find  a  path  of  fame. 
We  planned  to  climb  Olympus  side  by  side. 

SIBYL.     Which  is  a  fancy  way  to  fall  in  love. 
You  shall  not  win  him  from  me;  you  can't;   you  shan'n't! 

ORIEL.     Oh,  yes  I  will,  but  not  to  please  myself, — • 
I  do  not  want  his  love:  I  want  his  soul. 
While  you  would  tempt  him  to  a  vandal's  course, 
I  would  have  him  lead  in  honor's  shining  ranks. 

SIBYL.     Our  course  is  marked — the  duel  has  begun. 


ORIEL.     A  duel  if  you  will — I  am  not  .otn. 

(A  gong  sounds  for  dinner  and  the  brightly  dressed  guests 
at  the  hotel  begin  to  file  past  to  the  dining-room.  Lucius  and 
Sophia  approach.) 

SIBYL.     With  such  a  stake,  we  fight  unto  the  death. 

ORIEL.     Yes,  you  to  drag  him  into  the  mire  and  I 
To  lift  his  spirit  up: — unto  the  death! 

LUCIUS    (aside.)     Unto   the    death:— great    God! 

CURiAIN. 

ACT    II. 
A   Few   Days   Later. 

(Scene,  a  vineyard  ana  winery  in  Napa  County,  California. 
In  the  distance  a  nigh  hill  with  a  white  rock  on  its  summit. 
Beautiful  sloping  hills  covered  with  growing  grapes;  big  vats 
for  the  fresh-made  wine.  Valeri  and  Lucius  are  discovered.) 

LUCIUS.     Signer  Valeri,  just  let  me  talk  with  you 
A  bit.     You  seem  to  me  to  have  the  key 
Of  all  success  right  here  amid  the  grapes 
Whose  clusters  green   and   black  hai\g   luscious,   sweet, 
Between  the  tender  leaves.     They're  kissed  by  sun 
As    warm    as    that   on   Italy's    hills   and   vales. 
Now  Joy, — elusive,  sportive  sprits,  so  shy, — 
Is  quite  content  to  stay  among  your  men. 
They  work  wn,h  vim  and  health  as  if  they  loved 
The  vine  that  gives  so  richly  of  its  juice; 
As  if  they  loved  the  slopes  on  which  it  grew, 
The  air  so  balmy,  fragrant  with  ozone, 
The  view  of   mountains  nodding  against  the   sky, 
And  this  thing  they  make  that  sends  its  rippling  cheer 
So  many  miles  across  the  sea  and  land;  — 
This  wine  that  bubbles  in  those  mighty  vats, 
Then,  held  within  its  bottles  close  confined, 
Invites  both  dull  and  dreary  to  be  glad. 

VALERI.     Oh  yes,  you'll  find  them  pretty  steady  men, 
But  then  'tis  not  such  fun  to  make  the  wine 
As  it  is  to  drink  it.     Shall  I  pour  the  red  or  white 
For  you? 

LUCIUS.     The  white  and  not  too  large  a  glass. 

(Valeri  pours  some  white  wine  into  a  glass  and  gives  it  to 
Lucius.) 

LUCIUS.     It  sparkles  like  champagne, — with  topaz  glint 
It  gleams  just  like  a  living  thing,  a  voice 
Of  woman,  clear  and  pure,  and  yet  quite  strong; 
(Tastes  it  and  makes  a  slight  grimace.) 
Although  Signor,  it  still  is  very  new, 
And  is  a  little  bitter,  cuts  the  tongue. 
Perhaps  the  sugar  is  in  the  red.     But  I 
Am  here  as  courier  for  some  City  friends. 
They  wish  to  see  this  place  and  have  a  taste 

53 


Of  native   wine  just  born  from   the  growing  grape. 
I  can  rely  on  you?     Your  strongest,  best? 
Your  name  well-known   in   trade,   I'll   praise  still   more 
Among  the  sick;  I  am  a  doctor. 

VALERI   (fawning.)     Oh,  thanks. 
I'll  stop  all  work  and  make  this  place  a  show 
To  please   your   guests — some  ladies,   I   presume? 
Pietro,   Victor,  here   some   choicest  wine. 

(Turning  to  Lucius.) 
You   might  enjoy  a  tour  around  with  me. 

(Exit  Lucius  and  Valeri.) 

(Enter  Oriel,  Sophia  and  Andrew.  Oriel  and  Sophia  are 
dressed  in  attractive  gowns  of  white  linen,  with  flower- 
trimmed  hats  and  parasols.) 

ANDREW.     See  here  are  chairs,  a  jolly  place  to  rest: 
•I  am  sorry  that  I  came,  it's  quite  too  warm: 
One's  comfort   should  be  always  first  I  think. 

SOPHIA.     Why  I  don't  feel  the  heat;  I  am  so  well 
In  this  sweet  spot.     I'll  stay  the  summer  through, 
It  is  a  charming  place  and  charming  friends 
By  lucky  chance  are  thrown  together  here. 

ORIEL    (looking    at    her    keenly.)      Our    doctor    is    a    very 
clever  man, 
I  always  fear  that  he  will  laugh  at  me. 

SOPHIA  (very  vain)  I  know  that  he  would  never  laugh 
at  me, 

He  is  so  gentle,  kind  and  finely  bred; 
I  wonder  where  he  is?     He  promised  me 
A  drive  through  all  the  vineyards  here  about. 

ORIEL    (nervously.)      Is   Sibyl  coming  too? 

ANDREW   (looking  conscious.)     Yes,  she'll  be  here. 
Without  her  we  should  have  a  sorry  time. 
She  is  the  life  and  heart  of  every  group. 
Listen  to  the  humming  of  the  butterflies; 
My  hat!     I'll  catch  one  for  my  little  niece. 

(Makes  a  diving  movement  and  springs  with  his  hat.) 
A  lovely  creature,  all  gauzy,  golden  winged! 
Ah,  there  you  go,  my  birdie  in  the  air,— 
One,  two  three, — • 

(Flings  his  hat  on  a  supposed  butterfly,  then  takes  it  off.) 
The  beast  escaped  me  after  all! 

(Sits  down  again.) 
This  vigorous  country  life  quite  wears  me  out; 

(Querously.) 

I  wonder  why  Sibyl  is  so  late.     Her  presence 
Would  bring  a  breeze  to  fan  this  sultry  heat. 

ORIEL.     With  both  of  you  I  am  quite  out  of  place, 
For  no  one  comes  for  me.     The  doctor  said 
That  if  I  chanced  this  way  he  might  be  here: 
He  has  studied  deeply  the  science  of  the  vine, 

54 


And  could  teach  if  he  would  from  out  his  store 
Of  chemists'  learning  vast. 

SOPHIA    (hurriedly.)     He'd  have  no  time. 
Where  is  your  ancient  friend,  Emanuel? 

ORIEL   (patiently.)     I  cannot  weary  him  with  trivial  talk. 

ANDREW.     1  say!     You've  funny  taste,  he's  almost  dead — 
He's  eighty  quite  or  ninety-five  or  more, — 
Ah.  there  she  is!      Miss  Sibyl,  take  my  chair! 

(Enter   Sibyl,   looking  very   radiant    in    rose-colored    chiffon 
with  a  huge  black  parasol.) 

SIBYL.     How  white  you  look  in   garments,   snowy,   pure, — 
I  should  have  worn  the  same. 

ANDREW  (to  Sibyl.)     The  pink  suits  me! 
I  quite  approve  your  color  scheme  and  style: 
They  are  topping  swell,  just  what  I  like  to  see. 

SIBYL.     Here's  Lucius  with  the  man  who  makes  the  wine. 

(Enter  1  ucius  and  Valeri.     Valeri  puts  some  glasses  on  the 
table  and  begins  to  pour  the  wine.) 

LUCIUS.     My  friends,  Signer  Valeri  welcomes  you 
To  fountains  of  eternal  youth,  the  source 
Of  all  those  limpid  streams,  without  whose  aid 
The  convivial  board  is  dead,  and  .pleasure's  whirl 
Is  empty  dust.     Behold  the  ruby  glow 
Upon  the  claret, — Miss  Sophia,  it  is  yours. 

(Hands  Sophia  a  glass.) 

The  white  wine  here  has  caught   some  ray  of  the  sun 
WThen  the  King  of  Light  gilds  fair  the  morning  sky. 
Miss  Oriel,  this  glass  to  you,  it  is  like  your  hair. 

(Gives  her  the  glass  of  white  wine.) 
A  darker  red  and  sweeter  taste  for  you, 
Miss  Sibyl. 

(Gives  her  a  glass  of  port.) 
Valeri,  Andrew,  drink  the  white  with  me. 

(Sophia,  coquetting  with  Lucius  and  drinking  the  wine.) 

SOPHIA.     If  you  give  me  the  order  I  must  obey. 

ANDREW    (drinking.)      I'm  happier  than  I  have  ever  been 
before. 

I  think  I'll  stay  and  make  this  place  my  home. 
I'd  want  a  bride  as  well  as  grapes  and  wine,— 
I  might  grow  sturdy  with  all  three  to  aid! 
Come,  Lucius,  you  agree  with  me,  old  chap, 
You  too  might  take  a  wife  and  settle  here. 

SOPHIA.     I'd   be  content  with   Napa  all   my   life 
And  never  ask  to  see  my  home  again. 

SIBYL    (mockingly.)      And    you,    Miss    Oriel,    have    you    no 
other  wish? 

(Oriel  drinks  her  wine  slowly  and  steadily,  puts  the  glass 
down,  then  looks  keenly  at  Sibyl.) 

ORIEL.     Oh,  no,  I  would  explore  a  larger  field, 
Would  hunt  the  buffalo  on  Western  plains, 

55 


Or  go  a  whaling  to  the  northern  seas. 

I  leave  the  moment  that  the  interest  lags; 

I  want  to  see  our  doctor  rise  to  fame, 

A  discoverer  in  the  field  of  health,  to  save 

His  science  from  destroying  ignorance. 

LUCIUS.     So  many  give  advice,  I  am  quite  dumb. 

ANDREW    (still  drinking.)      Sweet   Sibyl   knows   the  bride 
I've  fixed  upon, — 

Why  should  we  wait?    I'm  ready  now,  let's  tell 
Our  friends  our  hope,  our  love, — my  beauty,  you  will? 

SIBYL  (drinking  the  wine  and  growing  excited.)     I  thought 
the  secret  safe,  but  now  it  is  out, — 
Why  yes,  it  is  true,  he  loves  me  like  a  swain. 
It  seems  we  are  the  first  in  love,  who  next? 
There  Lucius  waits  alone,  while  two  contend 
To  win  his  heart.    He  stands  between,  a  stone. 

SOPHIA.     A  stone  was  never  known  to  smile  like  that. 

(Valeri  refills  the  glasses.) 

Valeri.     I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  which  way  to  look, 
Which  lady  shall  I  toast?     My  mind's  confused; 
Beauty  on  every  side;   it's  like  my  grapes — • 
Bach  vine  with  rich,  luxuriant  bloom  out  does 
The  other.    'Tis  hard  to  pick  where  all  excel. 

ORIEL  (holding  her  glass  high  above  her  head  and  rising 
proudly.) 

There  is  no  need  of  choice  if  you  count  me  one: 
I'll  give  a  toast  to  others'  married  joy. 
Two  men,  two  women  and  a  fifth  to  sing 
Their  triumph.     None  tells  so  well  of  happy  hearts 
As  she  to  whom  all  happiness  is  dead. 
A  stranger  to  the  sound  of  wedding  bells, 
Unknown  to  rapture,  bliss  or  sweet  content 
Of  love,  outside  its  gates,  I  am  fitted  best 
To  peal  forth  its  praise.     Now  come  all  drink  with  me 
To  our  friends  betrothed!     How  long  they've  waited  to  find 
And  answer  to  their  call  for  love!     Alone, 
The  battered  spirit  beats  against  itself, 
Its  finest  fancies  waking  but  an  echo 
From  out  the  vacant  air  that  clothes  the  hills. 
Exhausted  in  the  dreary  solitude, 
With  wings  that  break  against  the  cage  of  self, 
The  stumbling  soul  despairing  sinks.     But  look! 
From  out  the  mist  a  face  appears,  there  sounds 
A  human  voice  in  place  of  echo  wild. 
Where  one  dwelt  with  his  shadow  for  a  friend, 
Now  two  combined  unite  and  are  one  again. 
Like  moonlight  turned  to  silver  in  the  sea, 
Like  rose-leaves  when  they  fall  on  velvet  moss, 
Like  music  when  it  beats  upon  the  strings 
Of  our  inmost  hearts,  and  plays  a  chord  sublime,  , 

56 


So  man  and  woman  meet  in  mystic  bond. 

Now  drink  with  me!     With  Hymen  for  our  toast! 

(She  drains  the  glass,  while  the  others,  half  hypnotised, 
with  astonishment,  drink  after  her.  Sibyl,  all  of  a  sudden, 
tosses  her  empty  glass  on  the  ground,  smashing  it  and 
exclaiming  in  half  delirious  rage.) 

SIBYL.     You  cannot  play  your  fiendish  tricks  on  me. 
I  see  your  game,  you  witch  with  golden  tongue. 
You  say  you  do  not  love  our  Lucius  here, 
You  want  instead  his  soul.     You  wish  to  see  him 
Beneath  you,  quite  abased,  within  your  power. 
And  then   who  knows  what  ruin   you  will  work, 
Or  how  wiuiin  your  grasp,  he'll  go  to  hell? 
You   wear  that  dazzling  garment   snowy   white, — 
I  don't  believe  your  soul's  the  same.     It  is 
Perhaps  a  mask  to  cover  a  blackened  heart, 
An  impure  life  whose  past  cannot  be  breathed! 

ORIEL    (calmly.)     Andrew,    you    will    respond?     i    gave    a 
toast, 
I  wait  to  hear  the  answer  from   your  lips. 

ANDREW.     How  should  I  know  what  I  am  io  say  to  you? 
I  feel  so  faint, — another  glass  of  wine, — 
I'm  sick,  my  head  is  swimming  round  and  round, — 
I  fear  that  Sibyl  does  not  take  to  you, — • 
You  are  so  strange,  your  talk  is  really  rum. 
Ah,  thanks,  Valeri,  that  wine  is  strong,  but  good. 

SOPHIA  (to  Lucius.)  It  is  dreadful  that  such  things  are 
said  out  loud. 

Let's  take  a  walk  and  let  them  fight  without  us. 
Now  vulgar!      J  would  never  quarrel   so. 

LUCIUS  (his  brow  darkening.)  A  woman's  quarrel  is  the 
worst  of  all. 

When  women  fall  their  depth  is  lower  far 
That  ours.     They  pull  each  other's  hair  and  scratch, 
And  scream,  and   sling  their  mud  with  easy  force. 
Such  conduct  well  befits  a  City  den, 
But    here    amid    a    loveliness    complete 
Of  Nature  in  a  bridal  mood,  it's  hate 
Uncloaked,    as    black    as    night,    that    shocks    our    eyes. 
How  dare  you,  Sibyl,  use  such  language  vile? 
Miss  Oriel,  you  sink  in  my  esteem;   you  take 
Her  insults  without  a  frown,  a  word,  a  look; 
You  are  so  calm  you  seem  to  like  such  talk, 
To  be  at  home  for  touch  of  vipers'  tongues. 
Now  both  of  you  stand  back,  I  am  host  to-day. 

(He  steps  into  the  center  of  the  stage,  and  with  a  violent 
motion,  thrusts  Sibyl  back  with  his  left  hand,  while  with  his 
right,  he  hurls  Oriel  to  the  other  side  of  the  stage  until  she 
staggers  against  a  tree  for  support.) 

57 


ORIEL    (with    a    cry    like   a    wounded    animal.)      Coward    to 
hurt  a   woman  without  defense: 
You   do  not  understand, — you  play  the  brute. 

SIBYL  (to  Lucius.)     You  conquered!      See  her  shiver  there 
so    pale. 
She  shrieked  in  fear  and  cowered  at  your  touch. 

ANDREW.     T  cannot  stay,  the  scene  has  worn  me  out. 
Sibyl,  will   you  come  witn  me,  my  dear. 
As   my   promised   wife  you   must  obey  me  now. 
I    shan't   be  pleased   if  you   lose  your  temper  so. 
My  wife  must  have  soft  manners  like  my  own. 

SIBYL.     All   right,   sweetheart,   I'll  go  with   you,   this  once. 

(Exit  Andrew  and  Sibyl.) 

SOPHIA    (whimpering.)     No  one  seems  to  care  for  me  to 
day. 

And   I   planned  for  such  a  merry  time!    oh,  dear! 
The  wine  has  made  me  sick,  I  am  all  unstrung. 
Doctor,    you   are   not   mad   with    me? 

LUCIUS.     No,  no. 
I  simply  hate  myself  and  women-kind. 

VALERI    (to  Sophia.)     Come  tnis  way  awhile,   I   will   show 
you   round, 
The   view  of   all   our   work   wrill   do   you   good. 

(Exit  Sophia  and  Valeri.) 

LUCIUS.     I  seem  to  fail  in  my  quest  for  something  rare. 
The  day  that  opened   with  such  hope  has  waned 
In    ugly   wrath,   a   broil    inflamed   by   wine. 
I'd  rather  die  than  be  like  others,  base, 
A  slave  to  passion,  pinioned  by  my  hate, 
My   life  condemned  to  ceaseless  grind  of  rage; 
And  yet  my  effort  to  be  something  more, 
To  live   within   the  light  of  men's  respect, 
And    win    renown    from   crowds   compelled    to   bend 
Before   superior  power,  but   ends  like  this. 
It    seems   that   no  one   wants  my   higher   self, 
While  many  try  in  vain  to  touch  my  heart. 

ORIEL.     You     speak     like    that?     Just    now     you     seemed 
eclipsed 

In   rage    like   that    which    you    condemn,   despise. 
You    say   that   no  one   seeks   your  higher   self — 
Alas,  you  hide  it  from  the  kindest  eyes. 
Although   I  prayed   that  you  would  follow   me 
And  scale  with  flying  thoughts  the  heights  of  fame, 
The    dome    of    mind    expanding    ever   up, 
I   see  you  play   with   fire,   beguile   with   flame 
A  simple  heart,  unskilled  in  mental  fence. 
And  then  towards  me  you  played  the  cruel  boor, 
You  dared  to  place  your  hand  upon  my  arm, 
And  bruise  my  flesh, — and  bruise  my  spirit  too. 
How   strange   that   savagery   contests   in   you 


The    higher    aim: 

LUCIUS   (almost  shrieking  with  pain.)     A  boor?     What  do 
you    mean  ? 

ORIEL.     Yon  must  admit  it  is  your  lower  self 
That  drags  yon  down,  for  sin  is  from  within. 
Corruption  is  born  in  our  own  hearts  alone: 
\Ve  cannot  fall  but  with  our  own  consent. 

LUCIUS.     I  tried  to  save  you  from  her  evil  tongue; 
You  seemed  too  mild,  too  sweet  when  she  attacked 
Your  virtue.     I  wanted  to  arouse  disdain, 
Contempt,  resentment,   righteous  rage  in   you. 
I  acted   but  in  your  defense,— for  you, 
Because    I   think    you    pure    and    true   and   high. 
Because  I    knew  no  other  way  to  clear 
Your   farre   before  an   enemy   so   fierce. 
And  for  reward  you  call  me  brute  and  boor! 
Oh  say  you  did  not.  mean  it,  please,  oh  please! 

ORIEL.     My  mind  is  clear.     I  meant  it  then  and  now. 
I  needed  no  defense  from  you  or  her. 
Such  slander  is  too  far  below  my  path 
For  me  to  condescend  to  hear  one  word. 
And  though  you   may  have  wished  me  well,  you  chose 
The  manner  of  a  savage  for  a.  proof. 
1   still  am  puzzled  more  and  more  to  see 
A  brain  like  yours  without  the  lamp  of  soul. 
So   rich   in  science  and  ideas,   yet  poor 
III  that  which  is  the   beating  heart  of  both, 
That  essence  fine,  like  filmy  silken  thread, 
Which   runs   divine   in  knowledge   through   and   through, 
You  are  a  study  of  our  modern  times. 
And   yet  I  am  so  sorry  you   are  sad! 

LUCIUS.     Sorry?     I   think   you   have   a   heart   of  ice, 
Or   none    at.    all.     Your    arguments    precise 
Cut   through   my   ache  and   pain   like   burning  frost 
Your  mind  as  cold  as  steel  is  like  a  blade 
As  fine  as  those  we  surgeons  use?  but  fit 
As  well  to  do  a  butcher's  clumsy  work. 
It  would  not  serve  I  fear  to  cut  a  grape, — 
Too  keen,  it  is  out  of  place  on  these  soft  downs. 
You   stand   there  like  a   star  from   evening   strayed, 
So   cold   and   brilliant    glancing   at   our   warmth. 
The  drowsy   day   deriding.     The   wine,   the  fruit, 
The  glow  of  color  on  the  hills,  you  chill. 
A  contrast  without  doubt  to  lead  me  on 
Where  already  I  have  roamed.     You  know  I  love  you! 

ORIEL.     Must   that  be  added  to  this  day  of  pain, 
Already    shrieking    with    the   tempter's   voice, 
Repulsive  with  the  invitation  to  sin? 
You  think  that  deaf  to  blows,  to  love  I'll  yield, 
Become  a  thing  that's  bought  by  a  caress? 

59 


LUCIUS.     No,  no,  believe  me,  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you! 
I  first  must  break  your  back  of  stubborn  pride. 
And  will  congealed  by  saintly  solitude. 
I've  set  my  heart  on  you,  I  shall  not  fail, 
I  cannot  fail,  for  I  was  born  to  win 
Some  fort  not  won  before.     Say  that  the  fort 
Is  just  a  woman  good  and  wise  and  fair. 
Is  there  a  greater  prize   so  worth  the   fight? 
Now  look  at  me  with  all  your  eyes,  your  soul— 
You  see  that  I  am  very  strong,  intense. 
My  will  of  iron  never  yet  has  bent. 
I'll  take  an  oath  on  every  sacred  thing 
That  keeps  you  floating  above  the  common  herd, 
To  be  a  victor  loved,  adored  by  you. 
I'll  banish  gloom  forever  now  and  fly 
With  you  to  esctasy  and  new-born  life. 

ORIEL.     My  ear  detects  an  accent  of  the  truth; 
You  mean,  perhaps,  just  half  you  say,  the  rest, 
Concealed  down  deep  within  the  dividing  myth 
That  screens  each  human  mind  from  its  nearest  kin, 
Reveals  your  groping  for  what's  new  and  odd. 
You  wish  to  conquer  me:    would  that  content  you? 
Or  once  your  own  should  I  not  be  within 
The  prison   of  the  vanquished,   your   slave    despised? 

LUCIUS.     Your  mind,  so  subtle  otherwise,  delights 
In  ugly  terms.     You  conjure  up   such  ghosts!    (shuddering.) 
You  don't  believe  I  want  you  for  my  wife, 
That  I  revere  your  stainless  heart  and  life? 
You  spoke  just  now  of  love,  the  god  that  binds 
A  man  and  woman,  creating  bliss  from  pain. 
And  when  you  see  that  very  love  spring  forth 
To  greet  you,  you  answer  with  a  shy  recoil! 

ORIEL.     To  conquer  me  would  be  to  gain  my  love, 
To  touch,  control  the  finest  part  of  me, 
That  one  unseen  and  tiny  spot  of  brain 
Where  glows  a  light  that  streams  through  every  vein 
And  gives  a  meaning  to  my  breath  of  life. 
Sometimes  on  mountain  peaks  through  distant  haze, 
I  seem  to  feel   the  wafted,   ethereal  love 
Of  one   whose   thoughts   illumine  all   my  own. 
That  heavenly  hope  of  yearning  trembles  faint, 
Just  praying  for  a  sweet  reply.     And  then 
Descends  the  curtain  of  the   denser  sky, 
A  thickness  falls  between  my  dream  and  me;  — 
No  whispering  voice  can  pierce  unto  my  soul. 

LUCIUS.     My  voice  is  not  a  whisper, — I  call  out  loud, 
I    love    you, — I    who   never    yet    have    bowed 
To  woman's  charms.     Devotion  instead  of  scorn 
Now  holds   my  heart  of  man,   before   untamed, 
Oriel, — you  wonder-woman, — come   to  me! 

60 


ORIEL.     A  little  while.     My  footsteps  falter  yet — 
I  know  the  beauty  of  your  glorious  mind; 
I  see  the  beauty  of  your  face,  carved  straight 
And  clean,  an  artist's  perfect  work  of  bronze, 
The  form  that  he  would  give  for  a  hero's  mold, 
A  conqueror's  statue,  bold  yet  not  untrue. 
I  think  you  want  to  love  me  with  all  the  old, 
Romantic  fervor  of  a  chivalrous  age. 
But  something  still  forbids  us  to  be  one; 
Is  it  that  I  fear  the  leaping  brute  in  you, 
Or  that  no  voice  is  quivering  in  my  nerves, 
No  inner  counsel  urging  me  to  yield? 
And  yet  from  some  far  source  of  pity  deep, 
My   bosom   beats  with   love  for  you,   my   dear! 
Lucius,— I   give   you   every   chance   to   win! 

LUCIUS   (falling  on  his  knees  at  her  feet.) 
You  crown  me  with  the  magic  wreath  of  hope. 
1  came  here  with  a  riddle,  anguish-tossed. 
i>^          -\,  my  study,  all  I  tried  to  be 
Seemed  vain.     My  will  rebellious  pined  to  burst 
The   bonds   of   duties   petty,   foolish,    slow, 
I  longed  for  the  chance  of  an  earlier,  stronger  time, 
Where  I  could  fight  great  battles,  live  or  die 
Within  the  aura  of  a  mighty  fate. 
And  now  I  see  I  only  yearned  for  love, 
For  you,  the  great  white  star  I  was  to  meet. 
I  have  the  chance  to  win,  oh,  never  fear, 
No  king  or  potentate  or  death  itself, 
Shall  hinder  me.     My  love,  my  very  love! 

ORIEL  (bends  over  him  and  kisses  him  on  the  forehead.) 
At   least   together   we  can  climb,  my  friend. 

(Enter  Valeri,  Sibyl,  Sophia,  Andrew  and  Emanuel.     They 
all  start  at  the  tableau  of  Lucius  kneeling.) 

SIBYL.     What  foolish  play  is  this? 

SOPHIA.     Why  did  I  go? 

ANDREW.     Another  wedding  after  all,  it  seems. 

VALERI.     On  fire,  love  gallops  with  my  new-made  wine. 

EMANUEL    (glancing  at  the  sun  as  its  rays   strike  on  a 
white  rock  on  the  top  of  a  hill  in  the  distance.) 
How  thick  the  underbrush  on  yonder  hill! 
It   clusters  round   the  base  in  fond   embrace, 
But  never  grows  up  near  the  naked  top. 
You  see  how  bare  the  summit  stands  alone, 
The  white  rock  gleaming  in  the   sinking  sun. 

SIBYL  (with  a  shriek  of  rage  and  pain.) 
The  meshes  of  the  curse  have  caught  him  in! 

CURTAIN. 

61 


ACT    III. 
Two    Weeks    Later. 

(Scene,  the  town  of  Santa  Rosa  in  the  interior  of  Cali 
fornia.  A  brilliant,  summer  day,  with  a  flower  festival  and 
fair  in  progress.  A  small  wooden  church  in  the  foreground, 
very  primitive  except  for  the  large  bell  in  the  small  steeple. 
An  air  of  bustle.  Indians  with  finely  woven  baskets  to  sell. 
A  colored  brass  band  playing  rag-time.  Enter  Sibyl  and 
Sophia,  the  former  dressed  as  a  bride.) 

SOPHIA.     It  was  so  good  of  you  to  pick  me  out, 
To   stand   beside   you   on   your    wedding   day. 
It    is   a   compliment, — you   honor  me, 
While  Oriel,  uninvited,  stays  outside. 
Just  fancy  how  she  aches  with  jealous  pain 
Alone   at   home,   while   we   are    here   to    make 
A  day  of  revelry!      The  festival 
Just   suits  our  mood, — if  only   Lucius   could 
Be  here,   we  should  have  a  perfectly  happy  time. 

SIBYL.     Don't  fret,  perhaps  he  will  join  us  after  all. 
He  knows  the  hour  and  said  he  might  be  here. 
Almost   my   brother,   for   years   a   trusted   friend, 
He  will  not  desert  me  on  this  day  of  days. 
My  relatives  are  dead  or  far  away, — 
I  have  but  him  to  wish  me  bridal  joy. 

SOPHIA  (puzzled.)  Suppose  that  Oriel  will  not  let  him 
come  ? 

You  said  you  feared  her  power  over  him; 
I  fear  it  too;  he  is  with  her  day  and  night, 
While  still  he  seems  to  have  some  love  for  me. 
It  is  such  a  tease  and  puzzle! — what  can  he  mean? 

SIBYL.     You  know  but  little  of  the  ways  of  men, 
He   flirts  with   her   to   pique   your   pride   a  bit. 
My  luck  is  great  in  winning  for  my  own, 
A  man   like  Andrew,   steadfast,   sure  and   true, 
Who  loves  but  me  and  me  alone,  with  all 
His  heart.     No  fear  that  he  will  cast  his  eye 
On  Oriel  or  you  or  any  other  girl! 
While  Lucius, — well,  I've  known  him  many  years, 
And  know  of  course  his  little  faults,  the  dear! 
With  such  a  handsome  face  and  such  an  air, 
A  manner  so  magnetic  and  refined, 
It  is  no  wonder,  he  is  a  trifle  vain. 
I  don't  like  your  rival,  so  I'll  work  for  you, 
And  throw  my  weight  of  friendship  in  your  scale. 
It  is  better  he  should  marry  soon,  he  wastes 
His  time  in  fooling  with  the  dazzled  moths 
Of  fashion  buzzing  near  him  all  the  time. 
His  wife  should  be  of  course  of  high  degree, 
Like   you   a   woman  of   the  choicest  rank, 


To  shine  among  the  learned  men  he  knows, 
Preside  at  banquets  where  he  leads  the  toast, 
And   danct    with  him  on   polished   ball-room   floors. 

SOPHIA  (flinging  her  arms  round  Sibyl  and  kissing  her.) 
You  are  my  best  and  only  friend,  my  love. 
What  can  I  do  to  show  you  gratitude? 
To  be  so  kind  to-day,  when   yourself  a  bride, 
All  thought  should  be  for  you!     Had  I  your  face 
1  would  have  no  fear  at  all  of  Lucius'  faith. 
Sibyl,  you  are  bewitching  in  that  gown, — 

SIBYL    (vehemently.)     This    gown?     Oh,    no!      I    hate    the 
color   white, 

But  Andrew  begged  that  I  should  wear  it  once. 
He    is    right.     A    bride    should    don    the   virgin's   garb, 
The  day  she  changes  to  a  wife.     But  white — 

(Enter  Andrew  and  Lucius.) 

ANDREW    (excitedly.)     We   are   an   hour   too   early,    eager 
both 

To  gef  it  over  with  the  greatest  speed. 
We  shall  have  to  wait  in  the  hotel  near  by. 
The  flower  procession  moves  along  this  way. 

SIBYL.     You  and  Sophia  go  ahead,  we'll  come 
Right    after    you.     The   heat   fatigues    me    so! 
I  am  slow,  while  my  bridesmaid  trips  with  nimble  tread. 

(Andrew  and  Sophia  walk  ahead  obediently,  and  soon  dis 
appear.) 

SIBYL    (looking   tragically   at    Lucius.) 
How  can  I  live  and  bear  your  cruel  scorn? 
So  calm  and  cold,  indifferent,  brutal  man, 
You  would  see  me  die  or  even  worse  than  die, 
And  take  no  step  to  save  my  ebbing  life! 
1   have  worked  and  worked  for  you  and  our  common  cause; 
With  the  venom  of  a  snake,  a  tiger's  fury, 
Without   reward   I   fought.     With   only   hate 
To  spur  me  on,  I  struggled  inch  by  inch, 
To  be  supreme  above  the  coward  race, 
Whose  insolence  of  birth  would  crush  us  down. 
I  kept  the  count  of  all  your  triumphs,  too, 
As  if  they  were  my  own.     You  played  the  game 
So  high,   and   strode  so  firmly  along  the   edge 
Of  deadly   danger  from   these  pale   foes  of  ours, 
I   worshipped   you.     The   world   seemed   made  for   you: 
I  dreamed  I  saw  you  in  the  chair  of  state, 
The  sceptre  in  your  hand,  while  on  your  brow 
The  diamond  of  success  so  bravely  shone, 
No  eye  was  strong  enough  to  face  its  glitter. 
And  now  you  are  captive  to  a  pious  maid, 
With  hair  of  straw  and  silly,  flowery  speech, 
While  my  own  knell  is  sounding  from  this  church, 
So  soon  to  bind  me  to  a  man  I  loathe! 

63 


Oh,  how  this  life  has  juggled  with  our  hearts, 
Dread  Satan  surely  works  to  torture  us — 
I  am  a  fated  wretch  who  dares  not  love, 
Or    I    would    shriek    my    ardent    love    for    you. 
It  is  not  too  late,  there's  time, — oh,  call  me  back 
From  this  outrageous  union   with  a  fool! 
I  will  grovel  at  your  feet,  surrender  all 
I  thought  to  subjugate:    Oh,  call  me  back! 

LUCIUS.     You   have  made  your  own   career,  and  now  re 
pent. 

I  did  not  choose  for  you  this  thorny  path 
Of  marriage  with  a  weakling  whom  you  betrayed. 
It  was  your  wish  to  mingle  with  the  white,— 
And   now  you   cannot   bear   to  pay  the  cost! 
Your  ambition  would  not  let  you  marry  me, 
It  seemed  to  you  a  backward  step  to  join 
Your  colored  blood  with  mine;  and  now  you  faint 
When  victory  is  in  sight!     You  look  most  fair, — 
Now  try  to  be  content, — my  pity  lives. 

SIBYL.     You  still  can  justify  your  every  act; 
I  am  not  skilled  in  argument  like  you, 
To  make  my  course  for  all  its  wrong  look  right. 
Under  your  contempt,  my  dark  skin  writhes, 
But  you  to  me  are  perfect  as  you  are; 
If  all  the  blood  of  Africa's  savage  tribes 
Ran  in  murderous  channels  through  your  veins, 
I  still  would  hold  you  fairer  than  the  fair, 
The  greatest  man  I  ever  chanced  to  know. 
Instead,  one  tiny  drop  of  Indian  blood 
Has  tinged  the  white  and  made  it  glow  like  fire, 
Made  you  a  leader,  chieftain  to  compel 
Subservience  from  every  race  that  walks  the  world. 
To  marry  where  you  conquer  is  not  shame, 
If  not  my  ajbect  self,  then  take  Sophia. 

LUCIUS,     ^our  jealousy  of  Oriel  knows  no  bounds. 
Absurd  to  think  that  I  would  yield  to  her, 
She  is  a  young  and  inexperienced  girl! 

SIBYL.     Nonsense!     Does    she    know    the    secret    of    your 
birth? 

LUCIUS.     Why    no,    but    that    would    make    no    difference, 
now, — 
Her  view  is  large, — she  likes  me  for  my  brain. 

SIBYL.     I  fear  you  will  founder  yet  through  self-conceit; 
You  take  no  count  of  others'  prejudice, 
And  are  too  sure  you  are  rated  at  your  worth. 
Take  care,  take  care;  she  would  spurn  you  like  a  dog 
If  I  should  tell  her  who  your  grandam  was. 

LUCIUS    (anxiously.)     You   would  not  tell  her?     Not  yet! 
Not  yet! 

SIBYL.     Why  not? 

64 


If  in  the  social  vortex,  I  must  die, 

First   let   me  try  to  rescue  you,  the  man 

Whom  Destiny  has  picked  for  greater  things 

Than  tender  yielding  to  a  woman's  love. 

And  if,  like  me,  she  is  marked  for  death  and  doom, 

What  does  it  reck  when  Lucius  is  the  stake? 

LUCIUS.     You  desperate,  bitter  woman,  what  would  you  do? 

(The  bell  of  the  church  begins  to  ring.) 

SIBYL.     How  can  you  ask?     The  bell  begins  to  ring. 
Once  more,  I  beg  you,  take  my  heart  to  yours, 
Escape  with  me  to  other  lands  and  hopes. 

LUCIUS (   coldly.)     Your  Andrew  and  Sophia  wait  for  us. 

(Enter  Andrew  and  Sophia.) 

ANDREW.     Why,  how  you  lag  behind!     It  is  almost  time 
For  the  blessed  tying  of  our  nuptial  knot. 
Shall    we   enter   now?     The   bell    is    ringing   loud. 

SIBYL.     Why  yes,  no  need  to  wait  a  moment  more. 

LUCIUS.     I  won't  go  in,  but  will  await  you  here. 

(Sibyl,  Andrew  and  Sophia  disappear  into  the  church. ( 

LUCIUS  (alone.)     Oh  God,  if  God  there  is,  now  pity  me. 
The  road  before  me  lies  so  dark  and  sooty, 
No  light   breaks  forth  to  guide  me  to  the  right. 
Uncertain,  weak,  I  fast  am  losing  faith 
In  my  own  self!      What  am  I  striving  for? 
A  power  won  by  force  and  black  deceit, 
Or  will  sweet  happiness  throw  to  me  a  kiss? 

(Enter   Oriel.) 

ORIEL.     You  here,  my  friend?     I  am  so  glad  to  see  you! 
I  could  not  miss  the  flower  festival, 
So  came  alone. 

LUCIUS.     What  pleasure  rare  for  me 
To  show  you  all  the   sights  of  the  gala  town! 
I  wish  that  you  were  in  the  flower  parade, 
No  other  blossom  could  so  play  the  queen. 

ORIEL.     You  must  not  flatter  me;    I  have  no  beauty; 
I  am  sure  I  should  make  a  very  sorry  queen. 
Oh,  look,  the  darktown  colored  band  comes  here; 
How  bright  and  gay  and  full  of  mirth  they  are! 

(The  band  passes  with  a  number  of  negro  women  in  the 
rear.) 

LUCIUS.     Do  you  like  the  colored  folk?     There  are  many 
here, 
This  negro  band  and  a  camp   of  Indians,  too. 

ORIEL.     I  would  not  do  them  any  harm,  poor  things, 
I  like  to  see  them  light  of  heart,  content. 
Their  rulers  must  have  something  of  a  task 
To  check  such  ignorance  and  strength  combined. 

LUCIUS.     Their   rulers!     You    mean   the    whites? 

ORIEL.     Why  yes.     Whom  else? 

LUCIUS  (jerking  out  each  word  with  difficulty.)  Sometimes. 

65 


the-half-bred-Indian-rules-the-best; 
No-woman-casts-a-more-magnetic-spell — 
Than-a-lovely-octoroon.     You  look  disdain! 

ORIEL.     I  hate  the  thought.     You  seem  to  think  that  charm 
Can  come  from  fungus  of  the  under-earth. 
You  are  wrong!      Our  strength  should  be  so  pure,  so  high, — 

(Lucius  turns  nervously  seeing  the  door  of  the  church  open.) 

LUCIUS.     Miss  Oriel,  come  this  way,  there  is  more  to  see 
The  other  side  of  town. 

(Exit  Lucus  and  Oriel.     Andrew  Sibyl  and  Sophia  come  out 
of  the   church.) 

SOPHIA.     Why,    Lucius    nas    gone! 

ANDREW.     No  doubt  he  is  at  the  hotel  waiting  us. 

SIBYL.     Go  on,  Sophia  dear,  we'll  follow  you. 
I   want  a  word  with  Andrew  quite  alone. 

(Exit  Sophia.) 

ANDREW.     My  love,  I  tremble  still  with  bridal  joy. 
You  kissed  me  only  once,  I  long  for  home 
To  press  my  lips  again  to  your  warm  cheek. 
Old   Venus  was  quite  plain   compared  with   you, 
My  beautiful,  my  own  Sibyl  sweet. 

SIBYL  (roughly.)     Oh,  stop  that  foolish  talk,  it  makes  me 
ill, 

We  soon  are  going  home  to  meet  your  friends, 
Your  friends  in  the  best  society  you  boast; 
Will  they  applaud  your  choice? 

ANDREW.     Why,  yes,  of  course. 
The   very   passers-by   all   gaze   on   you 
With  admiration. 

SIBYL.  They  like  brunettes,  it  seems! 
See  that  negro  mammy  standing  there — 
My  great  grandmother  might  have  been  her  twin. 

ANDREW.     Why,  Sibyl,  you  have  lost  your  senses  quite! 

SIBYL.     Oh,  no,  my  friend,  my  dupe,  my  husband  white! 
I  am  an  octoroon!     My  hand  is  exposed, 
And  you  are  ruined  before  your  little  world. 
I  vowed  I  would  enslave  a  pure  white  man, 
Would  see  his  heart  consumed  for  love  of  me; 
That  I  would  make  him  wed  me  in  a  church. 
I  have  fulfilled  my  oath,  now  you  can  go 
To  any  shame  you  choose.     I  live  alone 
As  I  have  always  done, — I  want  no  man. 
Now  let  the  scandal  blaze  as  blaze  it  will — 
It  is  only  you  who  will  be  hurt. 

ANDREW.     My  wife! 

Almost  on  the  altar  stairs  you  stand  and  say 
These    odious    things!      You    creature    of    the    grime, — 
The  law  shall  track  you  down  for  this  day's  work. 
I  am  not  strong  like  you,  you  seized  your  chance, 
And  played  upon  my  feeble  health,  you  flend. 


What    shall    I    do?     I'll    call    for    Lucius'    aid — 
But    stop — he   is   your   friend — his   skin   is    dark — 
Perhaps, — where  are  we  now?  he  too — 

SIBYL.     Is  black. 
We  have  had  a  pleasant   summer,  Andrew,  dear! 

ANDREW.     Sophia  and   Oriel,   they  are   white,  poor  girls. 
What  shall  I  do  to  save  them  from  his  grasp? 
I  shall  run  back  into  the  church  and  ring 
The  bell  to  sound  the  alarm  through  all  the  streets. 
What  danger  hovers  round  us  all  out  here : 

SIBYL  (jeering. )  Hurrah,  my  Andrew,  you  act  the  crazy 
man! 

ANDREW  (more  calmly.)  But  surely  for  to-day  you'll  stay 
with  me? 

SIBYL  (derisively.)  You  cringe!  I  might  have  known 
yon.  would,  poor  cur! 

Your   plea   is    unavailing.     Who   answers    mine? 
1    suffocate  with  rage  and  hate  and  pain, 
And  no  one  cares  a  jot.     You  do  the  same. 
Why  should  the  accident  of  birth  condemn  me 
To  suffer,  suffer,  suffer,  all  the  time, 
While   you,   without  my  beauty,  heart   or  brain, 
Cry  out  for  joy  like  babies  for  their  pap? 
It  is  unjust!     Unfair!      Unkind!     I'll  break 
The  awful,  cruel  bonds  that  tie  me  down, 
And   never   care  how  great  the   sacrifice. 
Go  tell  your  story  to  those  simpering  fools; 
I  will  take  a  walk  to  cool  my  burning  head, 
Before  I  leave  this  horrid  town  to-night. 

(Exit  Sibyl.  A  portion  of  the  flower  possession  passes 
while  Andrew  gazes  distractedly.  There  are  a  beating  of  tom 
toms  and  drums,  a  shrieking  of  Indians,  the  loud  playing  of 
the  colored  band  and  other  confusing  noises.  The  Indians 
who  are  intoxicated  begin  to  fight.  A  general  fracas  ensues. 
The  sky  becomes  overcast,  and  looks  as  if  a  thunder-storm 
were  imminent.  Enter  Sophia  looking  distracted.) 

SOPHIA.     What  is  the  trouble?     I  am  so  frightened  here. 
Why  where  has  Sibyl  gone?     And   Lucius,  too? 
Andrew,  you  are  pale! 

ANDREW.     Oh,   worse   than   pale!      Keep   cool! 
It   is   too  terrible   to   tell, — don't  fear — 
We  can  escape,  I  hope,  it's  not  too  late — 
This  town  just  swarms  with  horrid  colored  folk;  — 
They   plan  to  kill  us  all— 

(Sophia  shrieks;  the  confusion  in  the  street  increases.) 

SOPHIA.     Won't    Lucius   help? 

ANDREW  (seizing  her  arm.)  Beware  of  him!  You  don't 
know  what  you  do! 

He  is  not  white, — part  black,  a  giant,  too. 
He  wants  to  make  a  fool  of  Oriel  and  you. 

67 


We  must  leave  this  place. 

SOPHIA   (offended.)     What  nonsense  you  do  talk! 
1  don't  believe  you,  but  if  he  were  a  moor, 
[  still  would  think  him  perfect  as  he  is. 

(Enter  Lucius,  looking  very  much  scared  and  bewildered.) 

LUCIUS.  Is  Oriel  here?  (peering  around.)  Oh,  no.  She 
must  be  lost. 

ANDREW.     She  was  not  invited   to  the  wedding  here. 

LUCIUS.     I  know;  I  met  her  walking  round  alone, 
And  went  with  her  to  see  the  flower  parade. 
Some  drunken  ruffians  fell  into  a  fight; 
A  riot  ensued;   we  all  were  huddled  close, 
And  then  she  disappeared,  I  don't  know  where. 
And   Sibyl, — Andrew,  your  bride? 

ANDREW.     Has    gone   from   me. 
But  first  she  told  me  all  the  ghastly  plot, 
That  you  and  she  have  worked  to  ruin  us. 

LUCIUS.     I  worked  no  plot! 

SOPHIA.     Has  Sibyl  left  her  groom? 

ANDREW.     Yes,  left  with  curses  on  her  dusky  lips. 

LUCIUS  (with  a  crp  of  pain.)  She  will  find  my  Oriel  and 
reveal  the  truth! 

SOPHIA.     Why,    it   is   nothing    to   be   a   little    dark, 
To  me  it  is  a  bagatelle,  a  grace, 
You   are   like   a   royal   prince   of   Hindostan! 

LUCIUS   (aside.)     If  she  thought  that! 

SOPHIA.     What  are  we  going  to  do? 

(The  fracas  in  the  streets  continues;  there  is  a  good  deal 
of  angry  shouting;  then  the  police  arrive,  and  gradually  quell 
the  crowd.) 

LUCIUS.     No  woman  is  safe  in  a  street  like  this  to-day. 
Andrew,  you  take  Sophia  to  the  hotel; 
Meanwhile,  I'll  look  for  Oriel  and  Sibyl  both; 
You  need  not  worry;  a  friend  of  years,  I'll  take 
The  bride  in  hand  and  bring  her  to  your  arms. 

(Exit  Sophia  and  Andrew.     The  crowd  disperses.) 

LUCIUS.     What  next  to  do?     If  Sibyl  keeps  her  word, 
She'll  fight  my  love  in  duel  to  the  death. 
Then  I  must  put  the  armor  on  and  plunge 
Into  the  ranks  of  steel,  defying  all. 
If  only  Oriel  were  really  quite  my  own, 
With  mounting  courage   I  would  victory  gain 
On  every  field  the  prophets  chose  for  me. 
My   father's   dream   of   conquest   should   come    true, — 
And  yet  he'd  say  it  was  weakness  to  want  her  so! 

(Enter  a  crowd  of  Indians  in  a  bedecked  flower  wagon,  on 
the  top  of  which  Oriel  sits  enthroned  like  a  queen.  She 
waves  her  hands  brightly  to  Lucius  and  dismounts.) 

ORIEL  (to  the  Indians.)  Thank  you  for  the  ride, — so  many, 
many  thanks! 


rrhey  bow  to  her  solemnly  and  leave.) 

ORIEL.     II    was  quite  funny  to  be  lost  like  that! 
1    was  jostled   by   the  crazy,  drunken   crowd, 
And  parted  from  your  side.     I  was  dismayed, 
Tntil  the  Indians  picked  me  up;   I  had 
Xo  fear,  but  begged  that  they  would  bring  me  back 
To  this  spot  from  which  I  knew  I  could  find  my   way. 
They  are  so  droll  and  solemn,  yet  quite  kind, 
Were  most   polite, — 

LUCIUS.     I   almost   died   with  fear,— 
Knew  in  your  absence  what  you  were  to  me; 
The  hour  seemed  an  eternal  agony — 

(The  street  is  deserted  and  it  is  growing  dark.     Ke  throws 
his  arms  around  her  and  attempts  to  kiss  her.) 

ORIEL   (freeing  herself  with  a  violent  effort.)     I  said  that 
you  might  have  a  chance  to  win, 
I  did  not  say  that  you  had  won;   and  though 
With  some  strange  love  I  never  felt  before, 
I  love  your  soul,  your  embrace  but  gives  me  pain. 
Stand  back!     I  feel  as  if  the  thunder  yearned 
To  wrap  us  round  in  grisly,  leaden  shroud. 
We  stand  so  near,  yet  still  it  seems  to  me. 
The  whole  black  world   rolls  past  between  our  eyes. 
As  if  not  you  and  I  were  standing  here, 
But  fleets  and  armies  living  now  in  us. 
My  hungry  heart  is  eager  for  your  love, 
And  yet  I  cannot  answer  you ;   some  swirl 
Of  unknown  darkness  sweeps  our  beings  in, 
All  tender  hopes   forbidding.     What    curtain   hangs 
Like  funeral  pall  between  your  heart  and  mine? 

LUCIUS.     Why    would    you    wrench    from    me    the    bitter 
truth? 

If  all  between  us  were  as  clear  as  day. 
If  I  should  tell  you  my  inmost  secret  life, 
Would  that  confession  help  me  in  your  eyes? 

ORIEL.     There  is  a  secret,  then!     The  truth  of  course, 
How  can  I  love  a  shadow,  a  man  obscure 
Who  hides  from  me  some  fact  towards  which  I  grope? 

LUCIUS.     My  father  was  a  man  of  learning  wide: 
Like  me  a  doctor  but.  of  far  more  renown. 
With  deepest  pity  for  our  country's  wound, 
He  sought  a  healing  remedy,  and  chose 
A  wife  like  Minnie  Haha, — you  know  the  tale. 
She  had  a  drop  of  bright  red  Indian  blood, 
That  rendered  her  a  beauty  rare  as  proud. 
My  father  thought  that   I,  their  only   child, 
Trained  with  every  care  that  science  knew. 
Would   in  myself   combine   the  highest    type 
Of  native  aborigines  and  whites. 
He  destined  me  for  conquest  step  by  step; 

69 


His  ghost   still  goads  me  on  and  on  and  sees 

No  limit   to  the  heights  I  should  attain. 

(Sadly.)      He  did  not  seem  to  think  of  human  love. 
OKIE  I,   (very  tenderly.)     My  Lucius!     So  brave!      So  true! 

Have  I   been  unkind? 

So   burdened    with   a   weight   you    did   not   choose, 

So   sad,   my   dearest   dear,   I   weep   for   you! 

With  all  your  gifts,  your  charm,  your  knightly  power, 

To  be  but  science's  cold  experiment! 

LUCIUS    (with    glowing    eyes.)     You    do    not    despise    my 

Indian  blood? 
ORIEL.     Oh,  no! 
LUCIUS.      Then    all    the    wrong    and    pain   are    gone,    quite 

dead; 

Like  glorious  morning  coming  from  the  night; 

Like  flowers  that  burst  their  calyx  prison  green, 

And  every  Spring  that  all  the  ages  through. 

Has    broken    up    the    winter's    ice,andflung 

Profuse  it's  wealth  of  love  to  woo  the  world, 

You  come  to  dissipate  my  gloom!      Fair  Oriel! 

ORIEL   (gravely.)     I  come  as  one  of  those  you  were  born 
to  win. 

Your  love  of  me  is  love  of  something  hard 
Of  conquest.     That  is  the  darkness  which  I  feared. 
It   is  not  a   man  and   woman   with  hearts  that   yearn, 
Who  stand  here  grimly  face  to  face,  so  sheer; 
But    two   great    thoughts   opposed,   your   father's   dream 
And  my  old  pride  of  pure  and  noble  race. 
Could   I   link  my  blood  with   yours  and  let 
My  children  bear  the  weight  too  much  for  you? 
Oh,  Lucius!    it  is   so  hard  to  wound  you   so,— 
Those  questions  all  aside,  if  some  sharp  voice 
Should  urge  me  to  your  arms,  compelling  all, 
I  would  risk  the  future's  woe  with  perfect  faith. 
But  no;   my  very  depths  can  find  for  you 
Compassion,,  friendship,  tender,  real, — no  more. 

LUCIUS.   "And  oh,  my  God,  I  cannot  live  without  you! 
Although   your   words   like  vitriol  acid   cut, 
I  am  not  so  blind  as  not  to  see  your  point. 
Ambition's  taint  has  dyed  my  dearest  aim, — 
When  I  would  soar  with  you  on  pinions  far, 
And  fly  towards  utter  freedom  crowned  with  love, 
I   still    am   held    in   bondage    like   a    slave, 
The   fettered   creature   of   a   father's   curse. 
Pursuing  devils  challenge  me  to  fight, 
And  whisper  victory  to  my  grieved  heart 
That  wants  a  sweet  fulfillment  of  desire 
Against  your  breast.     My  Oriel,  you  are  first, 
With  all  my  might  I'll  crush  this  nightmare  imp, 
And  dedicate  myself  to  you,  my  queen! 

70 


ORIEL.     Oh,  do  not'  plead  this  way  with  me,  my  dear, 
Or  I  shall  wish  that  we  had  never  met. 

LUCIUS.     I  could  wish  and  wish  and  yet  unwish  that,  too; 
In   these   brief   weeks   of   summer's   alchemy, 
Our  lives  have  grown  into  a  tangled  hedge. 
Now  can  they  ever  grow  apart  again? 
The  trailing  poisoned  ivy  at  our  roots 
Has  clutched  us  in  its  killing  grip.     T  fear 
You  do  not  know  how  deadly   Sibyl  hates. 

ORIEL.     Her  anger  is  against  my  love  for  you: 
It  will  expire  when  she  knows  that  you  are  free. 

LUCIUS.     You  err;  her  terror  is  your  spell  for  me; 
Once  tell  her  that  you  tower  here  above  me, 
To  all  my  pleading  deaf,  a  critic  sharp 
Of  all  I  tried  and  strove  and  hoped  to  be — 
And  your  precious  life  would  hang  by  a  slender  thread. 
Are  you  made  of  stone?    Yen  do  not  tremble  yet! 
Suppose  that  I  outraged  by  your  contempt, 
Should  join  with  Sibyl  in  a  vengeance  chase? 
What  would  you  do? 

ORIEL.     Is  this  a  threat  I  hear? 
A  man  so  great  he  could  make  sport  of  kings, 
Would  hurt  a  woman  once  he  claimed  to  love? 

LUCIUS.     Oh,  no,  I  only  tried  to  prove  you  strong. 
To  what  dark  cavern  have  we  strayed,  dear  heart? 
I  see  no  exit  in  its  murky  light. 
We  wander,  wander,  far  from  home,  or  hope, 
And  stumble  on  the  broken  bits  of  rock. 
I  came  here  longing  for  a  thrill  sublime, 
To  lift  me  from  the  common  course  of  men. 
I  touch  it,  and  it  $ies  from  me  again, 
Absorbed  into  the  moonbeams'  fickle  light. 
It  melts  into  a  vastness  unknown  to  me. 
But  oh  my  life,  my  love,  I  cannot  sink 
Again  into  the  petty  groove  I  left. 

(The  storm  breaks  and  the  thunder  begins  to  roar  above 
their  heads.  Oriel  shrinks  against  the  fence  of  the  church, 
holding  out  her  hands  to  him  half  in  pity,  half  in  benediction.) 

LUCIUS  (uncovering  his  head.)  You  do  not  yield,  then 
one  of  us  must  die! 

CURTAIN. 

FOURTH  ACT. 
A  few  days  later. 

(Scene,  a  thicket  at  the  base  of  Mt.  St.  Helena.  The  moun 
tain,  which  is  thickly  wooded,  stands  sheer  against  a  twilight 
sky,  fast  deepening  into  evening,  with  a  few  stars  coming  out. 
Emanuel  is  discovered  seated  on  a  fallen,  vine-covered  log.) 

EMANUEL  (musing.)  This  valley's  beauty  with  the  woods 
combined, 

71 


Is  balm  to  rest  my  tired,  fading  eyes: 

Strange,  that  towards  the  evening  of  my  life, 

My  ancient  enemy  should  look  so  mild, — 

That  subtlest  foe  s.weet  Nature,  beams  on   me, 

And  I  succumb,  succumb  to  one  whose  art 

I  have  defied  for  almost  four  score  years; 

And  still  I  know  I  have  been  right  all  through. 

If  all  the  hosts  of  angry,  tortured  men 

Had  fought  the  long  and  bitter  fight  with  me, 

This  age  would  not  be  weighted  with  a  curse. 

The  church  and  state  but  totter  to  their  fall, 

When  woman  is  frail,  too  ready  to  give  an  ear 

To  seductive  tongues'  soft  wooing,  to  warmth  and  scent 

And  all  that  lulls  the  senses  to  repose. 

My  race  is  nearly  run  and  so  much  remains 

Of  all  I  planned  to  do.  but  he  who  molds 

The  human  heart  works  in  a  granite  clay; 

Forever  servile  under  passion's  sway, 

The  beckonings  of  the  spirit  lose  their  hold 

On  poor  mankind,  besotted,  weak  and  vain. 

Like  gold  dust  lost  in  rushing  torrents'  roar, 

Or  birds  that  sing  on  stricken  deserts'  stretch, 

Without,  a  listener,  the  voice  of  God 

Is  wasted.     The  Way  of  Light  unheeded  takes 

Its  course  across  the  arid,  scorching  plains, 

And  in  the  muddy,  slime-grown  river-bed. 

For  me,  effulgent,  rare  it  ever  shines 

In  the  bright  north  star,  now  peering  keen  and  strong 

From  out  the  blue  gray  twilight's  evening  glow. 

Alas!     That  others  in  this  perfumed  air 

Of  aromatic  herbs  and  pungent  pines 

Would  find  but  invitation  to  languor's  sin! 

If  only  prayer  avails  and  with  that  prayer 

A  maid  like  Oriel  to  bear  that  north  light  far, 

Perhaps  at  last  I  have  not  lived  in  vain. 

(Enter  Valeri,  swinging  a  stick  and  humming.) 

VALERI.     Your  health  improves,  I  hope,  Emanuel? 

EMANUEL.     Oh,  yes,  but  that  is  matter  of  small  count. 
I  worry  that  the  times  seem  sadly  tossed, 
By  creeds  and  policies  in  conflict  grim. 

VALERI    (smiling.)      Some    queer   things    seem    to   happen 
down  your  way! 

EMANUEL.     The  summer  is  a  tempting  time  to  place 
Young  blood  at  random  in  a  leisure  month. 
So  much  the  worse  when  negro  clanging  bells 
Peal  fortn  melodious  tones  of  honeyed  sound. 

VALERI.     You  mean  the  man  with  Indian  blood — no  fool — 
And  the  handsome  octoroon.     I  looked  askance 
At  both.     So  high  of  hand  they  dash  along 
Like  blooded  steeds  that  run  for  money  kings. 

72 


Such  mirtures  are  so  common  hereabouts, 

I  think  we  Latins  know  a  trick  or  two, 

To  hold  them  in  and  keep  them  from  the  race. 

EMANUEL.     A  trick  or  two  is  not  amiss  just  here. 
Some  foolish  people  of  our  kind  might  fall 
Into  their  net.    Sibyl's  trap  is  ever  set 
To  trip  unwary  feet.     There  is  Sophia  now. 

(Enter  Sophia  crying.) 

SOPHIA  (rushing  up  to  Emanuel.)     Your  help,  your  help,  I 
don't  know  what  to  do; 

They  said  that  I  must  leave  this  place  at  once, 
Because  some  dreadful  thing  has  come  to  pass.    • 
They    say    (crying    hysterically) — they    say, — it    is    not    true, 

oh  no, — • 

Lucius  is  my  friend,  but  nothing  more. 
Poor  Andrew  is  so  ill,  and  Sibyl  has  fled 
I  don't  know  where.     My  family  would  be  shocked; 
Emanuel,  you  will  protect  me,  please! 

VALERI  (curiously.)     What  has  happened  now?    Where  are 
your  friends? 

EMANUEL.     Be  calm,  and  tell  me  where  is  Oriel? 

SOPHIA  (impatiently.)     How  can  I  know?     She  never  was 
my  friend. 

I  don't  see  why  they  all  still  praise  her  so, 
And  say  such  things  of  me.     She  talks  far  more 
Than  I  to  Lucius!     But  they  say  that  she  is  cold, 
Strong-minded  with  much  talk  of  learned  books, 
While  I  attract  the  men, 

EMANUEL  (patiently.)     Who  says  these  things? 

SOPHIA  (still  whimpering.)     That  horrid  marriage  brought 
it  out,  you  know, 

That   Sibyl — and  Lucius  too — had  colored  blood. 
Poor  Andrew  has  been  deserted  by  his  bride; 
He  has  a  fever  and  perhaps  will  die; 
It  all  came  out  and  then  there  was  such  talk! 

EMANUEL  (gently.)     Come  back  with  me;   we'll  see  what 
can  be  done! 

(Exit  Emanuel  and  Sophia.) 

VALERI.    The  plot  begins  to  take  an  ugly  turn. 
Her  reputation  gone,  that  dainty  girl 
Will  rue  the  day  she  sought  this  fertile  land. 
And  Andrew  is  disgraced  and  put  to  shame, — 
The  papers  will  make  a  pretty  tale  of  this! 
I  am  glad  that  none  of  it  is  my  concern, 
Yet  rather  long  to  take  a  hand  and  play 
The  game  for  all  that  it  is  worth.     The  Sage 
Puts  endless  faith  in  the  sweet  and  dreamy  maid. 
He  may  be  right;  'tis  well  to  ride  the  moon, 
When  dangerous    snakes  are  lurking  in  the  grass. 
The  wonder  is  that  Lucius'  fancy  is  caught 

73 


By  a  prudish  girl  who  is  deaf  to  lure  of  sex. 
A  motive  is  a  skittish  thing  to  trace! 

(Enter  Lucius  noiselessly.  He  has  a  number  of  herbs  and 
"plants  in  his  hands,  which  he  seems  to  be  studying  by  the 
fading  light.) 

VALBRI.     Good  evening.     This  seems  to  be  a  favorite  place 
For  guests  from  your  hotel  tonight.     The  third 
To  promenade  within  the  grove  this  hour, 
You  seem  to  come  to  keep  some  lovers'  tryst. 

LUCIUS.     Valeri,  you  are  here?    It.  is  so  dark, 
At  first  I  did  not  quite  discern  your  face. 
The  night  is  so  oppressive  in  its  heat, 
No  wonder  that  this  sheltered  spot  invites 
The  weary  to  a  rest.     Besides,  you  know, 
There  is  some  trouble  in  our  camp  below. 

VALERI.     I  have  heard  a  word  or  two,  a  rumor  light, 
A  whiff  of  nasty  scandal,  touching  Sibyl. 
Has  she  pla\red  the  devil  with  the  little  fop? 

LUCIUS.  Played  it,  with  malignant  vengeance  black  as 
death ; ' 

She  has  cut,  him  to  the  very  core  of  life. 
His  heart  is  weak: — no  chance  he  will  survive. 

VALERI.     As  a  doctor,  you  must  understand  his  case. 
What  feebleness  to  fall  from  the  first  hard  blow 
Of  woman's  perfidy! 

LUCIUS.    Her  strength  is  great. 
She  quite  o'ermatched  him,  then  the  fever  came, 
And  laid  him  prostrate,  all  his  force  quite  gone. 

VALERI.     It  is  too  bad!     And  your  Sophia  may  go 
The  same  way.     She  is  a  weakling,  too, 
Was  here  just  now  complaining  of  the  talk 
Concerning  you  and  her.     Beware,  my  friend! 

LUCIUS  (gruffly.)  The  pursuit  has  all  been  on  her  side, 
poor  fool! 

With  all  her  tiny  might  she  rushed  towards  me, 
And  tried  to  make  me  marry  her!     Just  think; 
As  if  a  men  were  won  by  a  thing  so  cheap! 

VALERI.     Your  fancy  takes  another  course,  I  see. 
The  one  who  retreats  like  a  frightened,  nervous  hare, 
Excites  you  to  the  pleasures  of  the  chase. 
The  will  o'   '.he  wisp  is  like  a  dragon  fly, 
A  dazzling  fry  that  is  very  hard  to  catch. 
You  are  apt  to  weary  with  no  goal  in  sight. 

LUCIUS  (sighing.)  Alas!  You  tell  me  what  I  know  too  well! 
But  who  is  eager  for  the  lowly  plant 
That  crawls  beneath  Uis  feet?     It  is  the  star 
Whose  scintillations  tempt  his  sated  eye, 
And  stir  desire,  which  like  a  hungry  flame 
Consumes  his  being.     j.nd  do  you  think  that  once 
The  quiver  of  a  love  wUose  pulse  divine 

74 


Beats  with  celestial  music's  tenderest.  strain. 
Has  strung  our  souls  to  feel  its  magic  tone, 
\Vr  can  return  to  vacant  depths  of  earth? 

VALER1.     By  Jove!     It  is  youth  to  be  in  love  like  that! 
1  will  leave  you  here  to  cool  your  burning  heart, 
But  if  you  ever  need  a  friend,  call  me. 
1   must  stroll  about  the  fields  and  watch  my  men. 
Who  sometimes  are  too  gay  when  work  is  done. 

(Exit  Valeri.) 

(Lucius  aloiu  examines  the  different  plants,  herbs  and 
vines  in  his  hands,  smelling  each  one,  putting  one  or  two  to 
hi-  tongue  and  rubbing  the  others  between  his  thumb  and 
forefinger.  Every  now  and  then  he  pauses  to  look  up  at  the 
sky.  The  moon  is  just  beginning  to  rise  over  the  summit  of 
Mount  St.  Helena,  shedding  a  warm  golden  light  over  the  fore 
ground  of  tue  scene,  while  the  grove  is  in  deep  shadow.  He 
puts  his  hand  to  his  temple  with  a  gesture  of  great  despair, 
then,  as  if  tired  out,  sits  down  on  the  fallen  log  where  Emanuel 
was  seated,  and  bows  his  head  over  his  hands,  which  are 
still  clasping  the  herbs.  Enter  Oriel,  dressed  in  a  white 
muslin  gown  with  a  long  train  and  long  sleeves  in  something 
of  the  Grecian  style.  Her  neck  is  bare,  and  her  hair  is  piled 
iiigh  on  her  head.  She  is  walking  in  a  dreamy  way  almost 
like  a  somnambulist,  and  looks  very  ghostly  in  the  moonlight. 
With  the  rustling  of  her  footstep  on  the  dry  twigs  in  the  grass, 
he  looks  up.) 

LUCIUS.    Oriel! 

(She  gives  a  slight  shriek  and  staggers  slightly,  then  re 
covers  herself,  although  she  has  her  hand  to  her  heart.) 

ORIEL.     I  did  not  think  to  find  you  here. 
I  felt  so  strange,  so  queer,  my  nerves  all  ache; 
It  is  so  warm,  yet  some  foreboding  chills 
The  very  marrow  in  my  bones,     i  claim 
No  fear,  and  would  not,  like  a  coward,  shrink; 
I  am  ready  for  whatever  chance  may  come, 
To  blot  me  from  the  map  of  mortal  life. 
You  said  last  week  that  one  of  us  must  die. 
It  must  be  I,  although  my  tingling  brain 
Has  never  seemed  so  full  of  life's  flood-tide. 
Surely  the  footfalls  of  old  death  are  soft, — 
He  does  not  come  like  this  with  piercing  shrieks, 
And  pain  so  vivid,  cutting  and  intense. 
I  feel  as  if  ten  thousand  knives  had  touched 
The  center  of  my  every  jumping  nerve. 
My  brain  electric  moves  to  myriad  thoughts, 
Demanding  answer  where  none  is  to  be  found. 

LUCIUS  (tenderly.)     Oriel,  my  love,  you  are  not  well,  I  fear 
The  struggle  has  been  too  much— you  faint — come  here. 

ORIEL.     Oh  no!     1  do  not  faint!     I  only  crave 
To  know  what  agony  stupendous  waits 

75 


The  other  side  of  this  experience. 

I  throttle,  choke,  with  some  great  unknown  doom. 

It  is  as  if  this  mountain's  weight  should  fall 

And  crush  me  in,  yet  leave  me  still  alive, 

To  suffer  through  the  cruel  years  to  come. 

But  tell  me  how  are  all  the  sick? 

LUCIUS.     The  worst 

Is  true.    Poor  Andrew  sinks  to  coming  death. 
They  have  turned  Sophia  from  our  dwelling-place. 
I  can't  find  Sibyl; — I  think  she  lies  in  ambush, 
Still  planning  some  revenge  for  you  and  me. 
For  them  I  do  not  care;  what  if  they  die? 
The  world  would  never  know  the  difference. 

ORIEL.     Oh,  don't  say  that?    A  human  spirit's  breath, — 

LUCIUS.     Poor  toads  that  clog  the  earth  they  walk  across! 
Now  were  it  you — your  precious  life  stands  first 
Of  those  who  should  be  saved  from  violent  death. 
I  may  be  second  for  still  my  brain  works  well. 
Only  today,  I  made  a  new  discovery, 
Found  these  herbs  with  power  to  heal  and  cure 
Disease  that  we  have  tried  to  fight  in  vain. 

ORIEL.     No  one,  no  one  stands  so  high  as  you 
In  science  and  colossal  strength  to  make 
Yourself  a  power  throughout  tnis  land's  expanse. 
Make  that  your  aim  and  cast  this  morbid  love 
From  out  your  life.    We  can  be  happy  friends 
Upon  that  high  platonic  plane. 

LUCIUS.     Nay,  nay. 

I  know  myself;  I  should  strive  to  win  your  love; 
And  failing  that,  the  demon  spirit  would  rise 
And  tempt  me  yet  to  hunt  you  as  my  prey. 
I  fear  my  own  black  self,  the  Indian  rage 
That  might  compel  me  to  Sibyl's  point  of  view. 
Great  God!     The  world  would  darker  be  forever, 
If  we  should  so  combine  to  crush  your  life! 
It  is  my  own  white  blood  I  reverence  most, 
Why  then,  the  great  white  star  shall  be  supreme! 
My  Oriel!     Just  say  again  you  loved  my  mind — 
We  will  forget  the  ravished  heart  this  once. 
We  will  pretend  by  the  moonlight's  subtle  gleam, 
That  love  lives  only  the  head.     My  love! 

ORIEL.    Lucius!     Your  talk  is  wild  and  strange,  my  dear, 
But  if  you  wish  it,  why  yes,  I'll  say  this  once, 
I  love  most  deeply  all  the  best  in  you. 

(She  kisses  him  again  on  the  forehead,  as  she  did  at  the 
winery.) 

LUCIUS  (chewing  one  of  the  herbs  he  holds  in  his  hand  and 
throwing  away  the  others.) 
I  am  content;  now  hold  my  hand  awhile, 
And  promise,  dear,  when  I  am  gone,  to  kiss 

76 


My  brow  again. 

ORIEL.    When  you  are  gone?    Gone  where? 

LUCIUS.     Gone  where  I  can  no  longer  hinder  you. 
That  herb  has  a  very  pleasant  taste,  beware, 
You  never  touch  it  or  put  it  to  your  tongue. 
You  see  the  flower  is  white,  a  snow-drop  pure, 
It  is  veined  like  a  woman's  eyelids  cobweb  fine, 
Its  virulent  acid  lurking  in  the  leaf. 

ORIEL.     Lucius!     Lucius!     Give  me  that  vine! 

LUCIUS.    Too  late! 
The  poison  works  its  fatal  deadly  way 
Into  this  blood  of  mine,  so  strong  and  red, 
So  tinged  and  damned  with  brown. 

ORIEL.    It  cannot  be! 

(She  bends  over  him  where  he  half  reclines  on  the  fallen 
log.) 

(Enter  Sibyl  from  the  rear  in  a  stealthy  manner.  She 
carries  a  heavy  knotted  manzanita  stick,  as  if  for  climbing. 
Lucius  and  Oriel  do  not  see  her  at  first.) 

LUCIUS  (holding  Oriel's  hand.)  There  is  an  ecstasy  that 
struggles  through 

This  twisting  pain  I  feel.    So  soon,  I  leave 
For  my  long,  sweet  rest  with  nothing  left  to  vex 
My  fretful  will,  no  dreams  of  conquest,  love, 
Or  science  to  make  eternal,  bitter  war. 
And  you  are  with  me, — how  golden  shines  the  moon! 
How  narcoHc  smells  the  perfumed,  spreading  bay! 
Remember  how  we  talked  of  it  that  day? 
You  would  not  be  so  large  a  tree,  but  Just 
A  pansy,  velvet  soft  with  open  eyes. 
Why  in  my  clearing  vision,  I  see  you  rise 
And  rise  and  rise, — the  mountain  is  too  low 
To  measure  your  ascending,  luminous  height. 
And  when  you  tread  with  fearless,  airy  step 
In  constellations  of  the  Milky  Way, 
My  heart  from  out  the  unknown  grave  of  death, 
Will  follow  you  in  everlasting  love. 

ORIEL.     Lucius!     I  cannot  bear  it!     You  must  not  die! 
I  will  call  the  men  from  Valeri's  place;  It  is  near. 
There  is  time — release  my  hand — 

(She  attempts  to  rise,  and  is  struck  on  the  head  by  Sibyl, 
who  comes  up  from  the  rear  with  her  heavy  stick.) 

SIBYL  (striking.)     I  succeed  at  last! 
You  think  that  you  can  kill  a  giant  thus, 
A  god  of  men  born  for  a  great  command, 
And  never  pay  the  price?    You  woman-fiend, 
It  is  time  you  perished,  although  too  late  to  save 
My  Lucius,  my  Lucius,  who  dies  for  love  of  you! 

(Oriel  staggers  back  with  a  wound  on  her  temple,  from 
which  the  blood  flows  profusely.  Sibyl  raises  her  stick  again. 

77 


Lucius  m al.es  a   supreme  effort,   raises  himself  from   the  log 
and  wrests  the  stick  from  Sibyl's  hand.) 

H'OIT'S.     I  die  that  she  may  live;  how  dare  you  mar 
A  work  so  nobly  born?     My  Oriel,  speak, 
She  has  hurt  you,  not  mortally,  oh,  God,  I  pray. 
Valeri!     Valeri!     Come  here!'    Help!    Help! 

(He    sinks    exhausted    back    on    the    log,    clutching    Sibyl's 
stick.    Sibyl  advances  in  a  menacing  way  towards  Oriel.) 

SIBYL.     What  right  have  you  to  live  when  he  is  gone? 
What  would  you  be  without  his  strengthening  arm? 
Now  everything  I  hoped  has  foundered  quite, 
if  does  not  matter  what  I  do;  I  swear 
You  shall  not  live,  you  would-be, saint  on  earth! 

(Enter  Valeri  from  the  rear.     He  clasps  Sibyl  in  his  arms 
in.  a  grip  like  iron.) 

VALERI.     You  know  the  fate  of  people  who  talk  like  that! 
A  jail  awaits  them,  where  locked  tight,  and  fast, 
There  is  no  chance  of  mischief  from  their  hands. 
Miss  Oriel,  I  hope  you  are  not  badly  hurt? 
1  will  take  this  woman  away  and  go  for  help. 

ORIEL.     Oh,  do  not  think  of  me!     A  trifling  wound; 
1  will  stanch  it  with  my  sleeve,  but  Lucius  faints. 
Oh  look— be  quick, — we  cannot  see  him  die! 

(Valeri  still  holding  Sibyl  pinioned  turns  to  look  at   Lucius, 
who  is  lying  almost  unconscious  on  the  log.) 

VALERI.     It   cannot  be  that  she  has  killed  him  too! 

LUCIUS  (faintly.)     Oh  no,  I  killed  myself;  I  eat  the  tfne. 
It  is  a  fight  where  one  of  us  must  die; 
Oriel  is  so  white,  so  great,  so  good, — I  love  her, — 
The  victory  13  hers. 

VALERI.     This  must  not  be. 
I  will  run  for  aid — now  courage,  both  of  you! 

(Valeri,  dragging  Sibyl  after  him,  starts  to  make  his  exit.) 

SIBYL   (as  she  leaves.)     Foul  curses  rain  upon  both  black 
and  white; 

I  wish  the  day  of  doom  would  come  right  now, 
And  let  us  all  find  room  in  boiling  hell. 

(Exit  Valeri  with  Sibyl.) 

ORIEL.     Lucius!      Speak  to  me,  it  will  do  you  good; 
You  must  live  to  justify  my  faith  in  you. 
Would  not  my  life  be  worse  than  death,  with  you 
A  mortal  sacrifice?     Exiled  from  joy, 
For  all  my  days  I  would  wander  desolate 
Throughout  a  barren  world;   devoid  of  mirth, 
I  would  find  my  likeness  in  the  bleak,  north  coast 
Where  glaciers  and  icebergs  bar  the  way  of  man. 
No  good  can  ever  come  from  so  much  wrong. 
Lucius,  be  brave.    W'e  will  try  again  to  mount; 
This  time,  no  rocks  will  cut  our  bleeding  feet, 

78 


No  thorns  will  bruise  our  hands,  no  blinding  dust 
Will  dim  our  eyes.     You  do  not  answer,  dear? 
(Oriel  peers  into  his  face  in  the  semi-darkness.) 
LUCIUS.     My  answer  is  the  monument  of  white 
That  you  will  place  with  pansies  on  my  grave. 
IV  in  your  hear!  an  echo — 

(His  voice  sinks.     He  falls  back  and  dies.) 
ORIEL.     His  eyes  look  strange! 
His  heart  (put  her  hand  to  his  breast.) — is  gone  -quite  gone — 

he  must  be  dead! 

(She  puts  her  hand  to  her  head  where  the  wound  breaks 
out  afresh.  A  flood  of  moonlight,  pours  down  upon  her,  making 
her  look  like  a  s'atue,  as  she  stands  in  white  with  her  temple 
gashed  and  the  blood  streaming  down  the  left  side  of  her 
gown.) 

ORIEL.     What  have  I  done  that  life  should  hurt  me  thus? 
Why  must  I  live  when  living  is  all  pain? 
I  wanted  to  act  as  one  supremely  right, 
To  lift,  encourage,  inspire  and  guide  like  light. 
I  tried  to  love  him  as  no  woman  loved 
Before,  with  love  that  never  touched  the  senses; 
I  wanted  to  diffuse  a  radiance  pure, 
To  win  him  from  his  melancholy  fate. 
And  all  my  hopes  but  curdled  in  his  heart, 
And  sunk  to  depths  unfathomed  in  his  soul. 
Oh,  was  1  wrong  to  try  to  love  at  all, 
Where  I  could  not  give  my  deepest   being's  thrill? 
Henceforth,  I  will  die  to  every  tender  voice 
That  calls  to  me  from  out  the  void  of  men. 
I  will  freeze  to  marble,  stand  quite  cold,  alone, 
Where  no  lover  sees  me  but  to  shrink  with  fright, 
From  such  forbidding  ice,  I  will  not  move, 
Not  even  if  the  artillery  of  heaven 
Should  turn  its  cannon  against  my  snowy  breast. 

(Enter  Emanuel,  Valeri,  and  several  men  in  the  rear.  They 
stand  behind  as  if  in  awe.  She  does  not  see  them,  but  pre 
serves  her  statuesque  pose.) 

ORIEL.     Why  should  I  move  at  God's  most  urgent  call? 
I  did  your  bidding,  great  Emanuel; 
.Explored  a  human  soul,  probed. deep  and  far 
Where  woman  never  probed  before,  to  gain 
A  glimpse  of  man  alone  in  midnight  sin. 
I  dreamed  Uiat  the  luster  of  divine  consent 
Would  shed  its  glory  on  our  upward  path : 
I  only  tottered  to  the  crumbling  brink 
Of  a  secret  dark  and  strange,  of  hideous  things 
The  hiding-place.    Oh,  Lucius!  dead  for  me, 
If  you  could  see  my  purpose  strung  with  iron, 
You  would  be  thankful  for  your  restful  death. 
Take  my  work,  oh,  great  Emanuel, 

79 


My  broken  heart,  and  all  I  tried  to  do 

And  turn  them  to  what  mighty  cause  you  will! 

(She  raises  her  right  hand  pointing  upwards.  The  orchestra 
slowly  plays  the  funeral  march  from  Beethoven's  Eroica 
Symphony,  as  the  curtain  descends.) 

CURTAIN. 


THE    KING'S    GOAL. 
A  TRAGEDY  IN  FIVE  ACTS. 

Act    1.  The  Drill-ground  at   the  Presidio  of  San   Francirco. 

Act  2.  The  military   camp  near   Cazadero,   California. 

Act  I).  Military  prison  at  Alcatraz. 

Act  4.  Prize-fighters'  ring  in  a  circus  tent,  San  Francisco. 

Act  5.  The  king's  palace  in  Alaska. 

CHARACTERS. 

Second  Lieutenant  Gabriel  Erin,  United  States  Army. 

Gen.  Bowpoint,  IT.  S.  A.,     Col.  Cummings,  IT.  S.  A. 

Capt.  Thos.  Bitter,  U.  S.  A.  First  Lieut.  George  Jones, 
U.  S.  A.  First  Lieut.  Joe  Fraser,  U.  S.  A.  First  Lieut.  Hard 
ing  Ingram,  U.  S.  A. 

Sergeant   Sweeney,   U.   S.   A.     Ex-Sergeant    Heinz,   I'.    S.   A. 

Ghost  of  Emperor,  Marcus  Aurelius. 

Miss  Helgolia  Crook,  a  modern  woman. 

Fantasia  Crating,  a  courtesan. 

Alasa  Dollama,  a  fanatic.     Juan  Knolles,  a  fanatic. 

Washington  Davis,  a  negro  prize-fighter. 

Soldiers,  guards,  prize-ring  officials,  prize-ring  crowd,  etc. 

ACT  1.  (Scene:  Presidio  of  San  Francisco.  A  morning 
drill.  Companies  of  soldiers  drilling  in  the  distance.  Three 
officers  chatting  in  the  foreground.) 

JONES    (laughing).      Laughter   is   trickling   down    my   very 

spine, 

And  rippling  through  my  bones:— it  is  such  a  game 
To  see  those  youngsters  marching  on  parade 
With  a  solemn  strut  of  great   importance,  ;.otride 
Their  new-born  dignity  and  hard-won  rank! 

FRASER.     Suppose  they  took  it  as  a  jolly  farce? 
Do  you  think  your  merriment  the  kind  of  stuff 
Our  army  needs  in  this  late  day  of  strife? 

INGRAM.     It  seems  we  need  a  Hector  here  and  there 
To  change  the  scheme  of  our  inconsequence. 

JONES.     Those  heroes  of  the  ancient  time  were  dreams 
That  old  men  spun  in  tedious,  vacant  days. 
I  do  not  doubt  the  lads  were  just  like  us, 
Quite  fond  of  sport  and  wine  r«*d  easy  work, 
The  government's  pay  that  never   fails  each   month, 
And  the  passing  joke  that  is  our  best  of  life. 

81 


FRASER.      And    so   to   you   there   is   nought   but   froth   and 

mirth, 

In  all  the  tales  of  fighting  men  of  might, — 
But   greybeards   cumbered    with   a   wrinkled    brain, 
Who  wove  fictions  to  deceive  the  race  of  boys, 
Compelling  young  cadets  to  act  in  plays 
Of  serious  poise  that  never  yet  in  life 
Had  actual  counterpart? 

JONES.     You  hit  my  thought 
Just  right,— you  follow  with  a  nimble  step 
In  deviations  of  the  skipping  mind, 
Although  in  shooting  tests  you  aim  amiss. 

INGRAM.     What  matters  when  he'll  not  be  called  to  shoot 
At  a  living  target,  Peace  surrounding  quite 
Our  reservation  made  of  army  toys, 
Where  puppets  fall  to  show  our  bullets'  strength, 
And  our  sabres  flash  against  the  empty  breeze? 

FRASER.     The  god  of  war  has  slumbered  now  so  long, 
Perhaps  he  will  wake  some  day  with  a  thunder  clap, 
And  hurl  us  all  to  a  seething  gulf  of  arms, 
Where  lives  or  mangled  limbs  their  forfeit  pay. 
(Enter  Capt.  Bitter.) 

BITTER.     Young  men,  you  cut  an  idle  figure  here, 
Standing  by  unoccupied  in  the  morning  hour. 
The  passers-by  might  think  you  had  gone  to  seed, 
And  lose  the  respect  a  soldier  should  command. 

JONES.     We  have  drilled  and  drilled  till  not  a  drill  is  left, 
What  would  you  have  us  do?     Pretend  still  more 
That  war  is  a  serious  game,  and  not  a  dance 
For  little  boys  inclined  to  naughtiness? 

BITTER.     Hush!      Hush!      Your  tongue  is  running  far  too 

fast, 

So  fast,  you  tempt  me  to  apply  the  gag. 
The  crime  our  chiefs  will  pardon  least  of  all 
Is  too  much  babbling  of  our  secret  shrine. 

FRASER.     Our  shrine?     You  mean  our  regulations,  plans, 
The  things  we  learn  and  never  hope  to  use, — 
There  is  nothing  in  the  stale  and  hackneyed  grind, 
Except  to  watch  the  younger  men  a^  work, 
Like  blacksmiths  who  strive  to  hammer  out  a  nail 
All  other  nails  excelling,  and  think  that  there 
They  have  a  task  the  world  will  give  applause. 

JONES.     That  was  our  joke  a  moment  since, — the  face 
The  novice  puts  on  this  routine  of  ours, — 
Young  Gabriel  Erin  standing  there  with  sword 
At  angle  with  the  paling  northern  sky, 
Is  poised  like  a  warrior  of  the  ancient  time, 
When  all  warfare  meant  the  handling  of  the  spear. 
His  uniform  is  life  and  death  to  him; 

82 


He  is  so  earnest  that  a  fleck  of  dust 
Upon  his  coat  or  blade  would  bring  about 
\n  agony. 

INGRAM.     Poor  lad!      You  joke  with  him? 

JONES.     Do  I?     Did  you  ever  throw  a  tiny  bean 
Against   the  wall  of  China?     Or  aim  a  sling-shot 
At  the  dome  of  Heaven?     Your  mark  would  be  as  good 
As  any  trial  light  and  gay  and  blithe 
Against  the  adamant  of  our  young  friend. 

BITTER.     He  is  stern  and  sure  and  proud,  I  have  observed, 
The  kind  of  youth  who  craves  bold  danger's  chance, 
And  loves  a  mighty  fling  of  brilliant  peril, 
As  other  men  love  wine.     He  comes  this  way. 

(The  company  who  have  been  drilling  disperse  and  Gabriel 
approaches  the  group  of  officers.) 

JONEp.     Erin,  my  boy,  we  were  admiring  you, 
As  you  stood  there  so  silent  and  so  straight. 
The  men  beneath   you   swayed  at   your  command, 
I  ike  ears  of  corn  that  sweep  now  right,  now  left 
As  the  breeze  dictates,  01   upright  stand  when  winds 
Are  low,  and  motion  sinks  to  noiseless  rest. 

ERTN   (earnestly).     You  think  then  that  my  work  has  some 

effect? 

I  struggle  with  the  men  at  drill  each  day, 
And  they  are  never  absent  from  my  thoughts. 
1  try  to  mold  them  to  some  great  ideal, 
Of  warriors  of  a  grand  heroic  time, 
Who  fought  for  Glory,  Truth,  their  flag  and  God, 
And  little  cared  for  joys  of  ease  or  life 
That  most  men  prize  above  the  shining  field 
Of  Honor. 

INGRAM.     Why  waste  your  labor  on  the  men? 
Give  us  a  lesson  in  that  lofty  strain, 
Help  us  to  feel  that  war  is  the  noblest  cause 
That  can  engage  the  heart  and  strength  of  man. 

BITTER.     Don't  let  them  take  their  jokes  too  far,  my  boy, 
'Tis  they  should  teach  and  you  should  learn,  you  know, 
And  discipline  cannot  walk  the  other  way. 

ERIN.     Why,  sir,  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. 
1  know  my  place,  and  I  will  keep  it  too, 
Below  all  others  of  a  senior  grade. 
I  still  may  have  my  way  with  squads  of  men 
At  drill,  who  lack  all  education's  aid. 

JONES.     Oh  then  we'll  slip  the  art  of  war  and  talk 
Of  other  things.     Just  let  the  youngster  give 
His  views  of  life  and  love,— and  friendship   too. 

BITTER.     Be  careful  that  you  do  not  go  too  far 
In  talk  of  worldly  things  to  one  just  born 
From  the  imposing     lectures  of  our  great  war-school, 

83 


The  most  advanced  and  strongest  in  the  world 

(Exit  Bitter.) 

FRASER   (to  Erin).     It  is  such  men  as  that  who  make  us 

weak. 

Beware  his  type  and  yet  you  may  escape 
The  deadening  grind  of  daily  army  life. 
We  all  began  like  you,  in  hope,  alert; 
Our  calling  seemed  of  all  the  noblest  one; 
Our  hearts  ambitious   flamed   with  zest  of  war. 
We  prayed  for  the  chance  our  banner  to  unfurl 
Amid  the  roar  of  cannons'  mighty   throats, 
And  in  the  darkness  dense  of  a  smoky  field. 
Enthusiasm  was  born,  but  born  to  die. 
The  great  craving  of  our  hot  young  blood  for  fame, 
Soon  spent  itself  in  useless  exercise. 
We  wished  to   rise  and  found  ourselves  curtailed 
By  trival  men  like  Bitter  and  his  kind, 
Who  ever  walk  one  lonely  circle  round 
With  no  beginning  and  no  end,  no  point 
Or  aim  beyond  its  own  encompassing. 
They  ask  of  us  but  just  the  same  routine, 
The  walking  of  the  daily  round, — just  so,— 

(He  makes  a  few  mincing  steps  up  and  down.) 
With  never  dream  or  hope  or  step  beyond. 

ERIN.      Would    you    have    me    then    believe    this    time    is 

-     worse 

Than  all   the  others  that  have  gone  before? 
That  every  impulse  to  Glory's  heroic  field 
Is  but  the  effervescence  of  a  youth  too  warm? 
That  puppets  in  the  name  of  men  hold  sway 
O'er  other  men  who  yearn  for  excellence, 
And  crush  them  all  to  tiny  manikins? 
Why  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  as  well 
If  the  gorilla  and  the  ourang-outang  should  reign, 
And  let  the  human  race  for  once  and  all 
into  its  own  dead  ashes  sink  expired. 

JONES.     That's  just  the  kind  of  talk  we  hoped  from  you. 
Now  make  it  good  and  we  will  follow  you 
On  any  steep  ascent  you  choose  to  take. 
I  have  laughed  so  much  that  merriment  is  stale. 
Just  for  a  change  I  would  like  to  see  a  war. 
Be  you  the  cause,  young  Gabriel,  my  lad. 
Our  farce  has  run  its  long  predestined  course. 
We  wait  for  one  to  come  with  sweeping  robes, 
Of  rich  and  glorious  tragedy, — for  YOU! 

ERIN.     I  think  you  never  joked  so  much  as  now. 
What  could  I  do  to  bring  about  a  war? 
It  takes  a  king  or  two  or  nations'  might 
To  bring  about  that  cataclysmic  strife 

84 


Wo  know  as  war. 

INGRAM.     A  king  or  two  you  say? 
And  whence  has  come  the  right  of  any  man 
To  say  that  he  is  king  with  power  to  rule 
O'er  millions  subject  to  his  voice  and  pen? 

JONES.     You  touch  upon  a  question  of  deep  import. 
What  makes  a  king?     Or  what  in  olden  time 
Made  first  the  forbears  of  our  present  kings? 

FRASER.     There  is  a  legend  that  they  took  the  field, 
And  fought  their  way  through  lances  bristling  sharp 
To  an  eminence  where  safe,  secure,  they  stood, 
From  any  harm  that  mortal  could  devise. 

ERIN.     An  immortal  then  is  born  from  out  the  ranks 
Where  mortals  but  too  soon  their  doom  discover? 

FRASER.     I  cannot  say,  and  yet  perchance  there  is 
Some  truth  behind  the  legends  that  are  told 
Of  gods  and  clemi-gods  when  first  the  world 
Was  born  from  Chaos'  dark  unravellings. 

(There    is   a   military   call   sounded   on    a   trumpet.      Fraser 
and  Jones   start.) 

JONES   (mockingly).     I  go  to  play  my  mimic  game  of  war. 
With  my  little  dolls  in  mimic  battle-play.     (Exit  Jones.) 

FRASER.     When  next  you  probe  the  dimness  of  dim  time. 
And  question  if  the  men  on  thrones  are  there 
By  better  right  than  we  who  tread  a  line 
Of  daily  littleness,  remember  me. 
I    listen   well   and   may   do   something  more. 

(Exit  Fraser.) 

INGRAM.     Erin,  suppose  once  more  we  try  to  found 
A  race  of  kings, — and — start  the  line  with  you! 

ERIN   (starting).     What  fancy  of  a  madman's  brain  is  this? 

INGRAM.     Your  life  thus  far  is  pure,  without  alloy; 
Your  are  strong  and  straight  and  true,  with  living  faith 
That  Glory  is  a  fitting  goal  for  men. 
In  Egypt  the  right  to  be  a  king  was  won 
By  cutting  off  the  heads  of  other  kings. 
We  won't  do  that,  but  something  better  far; 
We  will  make  them  feel  that  kings  whose  right  of  reign 
Has  come  from  birth  are  puny  things  compared 
With  those  who  fight  their  way  just  step  by  step 
From  the  lowest  rank  to  one  so  soaring  high 
All  other  men  stand  back  ashamed,  abased. 

ERIN  (uncovering  his  head).     The  work  which  you  assign. 

stupendous,  vast, 

Towers  o'er  my  head  sublimely  radiant,  white, 
Like  a  mountain  whose  icy  summit  point  is  lost, 
Within  the  myriad  encircling  clouds  of  mist 
That  wreathe  around  it  with  caressing  breath, 

85 


Yet  hold  it  ever  hid  within  their  depths. 

I  would   say  "No"  but  that  a  voice  commands 

The  fearful  task, — (He  looks  up  with  an  inspired  expression.) 

I  WILL,  [  WILL  be  king! 

INGRAM    (looking  at  him  in  admiration,  yet    startled.) 
Great  Heaven!     The  boy  is  earnest  even  now! 

(Enter  Alasa  Dollama  and  Juan  Knolles.  Dollama,  tall, 
dark,  slight,  like  an  ancient  Jew  or  Arab,  is  dressed  in  civilian 
American  clothes  except  for  his  shirt,  which  is  blood-red. 
Knolles  is  very  plain,  short,  fat  and  dark,  almost  grotesque 
in  appearance.  He  is  dressed  in  blue  jeans  like  a  working- 
man,  and  has  an  ugly,  villainous  countenance.) 

DOLLAMA.      We  are   strangers  coming  here  from   the  dis 
tant  east, 
And  wish  to  learn   somewhat  of  your  soldiers'  ways. 

KNOLLES.  And  how  this  land  compares  with  ours  far  off, 
Across  the  ocean's  waste  and  danger  deeps. 

INGRAM.     What  is  the  land  you  would  compare  to  this? 

DOLLAMA.     We  are  not  allowed  to  say,  but  it  is  one  so  old. 
The  tiny  mind  of  man  cannot  take  in 
Th°  vast  extent  of  time  the  world  lived  there. 

INGRAM.     Why  then  no  doubt  you  will  find  us  very  young. 
The  veriest  infants  of  the  human  race. 
I  almost  fear  to  tell  you  overmuch, 
You    will   laugh   and   laugh   at   our  insignificance. 
Lieut.  Erin  here,  will  show  you  round. 
I  pray  you  cast  a  tolerant,  kindly  eye 
Upon  the  imperfections  of  our  youth. 

(Exit  Ingram.) 

ERIN.     No  doubt  you  want  to  see  our.  daily  drill. 
Just  come  this  way,  the  parade  takes  place  at  noon. 
DOLLAMA.     I  give  so  little  for  a  view  of  drill, 
I  would  snap  my  fingers  at  ten  million  souls, 
Stretched  out  in  line  with  marching  step  and  mien. 
Nor  do  I  care  for  soldiers'  gold  parade, 
But  I  would  know;   I  must;   I  shall;    tell  me 
Just   where  your  hidden   strength  lies  low  and  where 
The  weakness  those  will  find  who  conquer  you. 

ERIN.     It  seems  to  me  you  ask  by  far  too  much; 
We  do  not  assume  that  any  weakness  lies 
Within   our  scheme  of  batteries  and  forts. 

DOLLAMA.     Why  Knolles  and  I  will  be  the  judge  of  that. 
I  plan  our  line  of  work  in  searching  deep 
The   rotten  hearts  of  governments'   decay; 
And   Knolles  puts  his  finger  on  the  sore. 

ERIN.     I  recognize  no  right  to  seek  this  sore. 
Our  army  is  as  strong  as  death,  as  death 
Not,  yet  invaded  by  immortal  pomp. 
Unconquered,   fair,   the   banners   wave   sublime 


O'er  millions  of  miles  of  smiling,  happy  land; 

O'er  acres  that  teem   with  fruit  and   wheat  and  wine; 

O'er  mountains  that  cast  forth  eternal  gold, 

1'nstinted,   lavish,  pouring   ever  out, 

Like   Folar   rays    in    undiminished   wealth; 

O'er  rivers  bearing  commerce  to  the  sea, 

An  instance  of  the  vast  prosperity 

Of  happy  men  who  bask  in  heaven's  grace. 

DO  I. LAMA.     You  put  a  pretty  gloss  upon  the  facts! 
But  cannot  fool  a  man  with  second  sight. 
Look  close  at   me, — do  I  seem  the  kind  of  man 
Who  would  soften  and  return  a  kissing  smile? 
Or  do  you  think,  that   all  your  gold  could   buy 
One  jot  of  my  proud  purpose's  strong  intent? 
I  am  not  ?o  eti.-ily  deceived,  my  friend. 
We  know  in  that  sweet  ancient  land  of  ours 
That  men  have  almos'    run  their  giddy   race!! 

(He     draws     Erin     aside     with     threatening,     impressive 
demeanor.) 
\Vt    comr  to  kill  all  men  unfit  to  live!! 

KNOLLES.     Yes,  it  is  my  task  to  see  them  end, 
To  snuff  them  out  like  gnats  of  feeble  life. 
With  all  my  might  1  think  of  Death,  that's  all, — 
They  go;   the  world  is  better  for  their  loss. 

ERIN    (in    a    tone    of    repressed    horror).      And    who    is    to 
judge  if  they  are  fit  to  live? 

KNOLLES.     Why  no  one  ever  could   deceive  Dollama. 
He  has  eyes  that  see  through  walls  opaque  and  dark. 
Like  stars  that  cut  their  way  through  thickened  space, 
And  send  their  rays  of  light  to  benighted  men; 
Like  fire  that  burns  a  forest  to  the  ground, 
Hewing  down  the  stoutest  trunks  and  leaves, 
And  rushing  with  the  wind  to  open  light, 
His  glances  trace  their  course  of  surest   sight 
Into  the  remotest  depths  of  ugly  life. 
He  sees:     I  act:  and  you?     What  will  you  do? 

ERIN.     You  cannot  mean  to  say  I  must  not  live? 

DOLLAMA.     No  reason  you  should  live  when  others  die. 
I  smell  an  evil  in  this  very  place, — 
Your  army  quivers  to  a  certain  doom. 
We  must  kill  the  young;   the  old  die  anyway. 
Come  now;    defend  yourself;    advance;    I   strike! 

(Dollama  takes  a  menacing  attitude,  braces  himself  like 
a  sinuous  contortionist,  and  tries  to  wrestle  with  Erin.  The 
young  officer  springs  to  grapple  with  him,  and  they  struggle 
for  a  few  moments,  the  lieutenant  apparently  having  the 
upper  hand.  At  the  end  of  a  few  breathless  moments,  how 
ever,  Erin  falls  to  the  ground,  picks  himself  up,  tries  to  move 
his  arms  and  finds  that  they  cleave  to  his  sides.) 

87 


ERIN.     What  black  art  have  you  tried  to  use  on  me. 
That  thus  the  strength  deserts  my  athlete's  arms? 

KNOLLES.     And  if  you  knew  the  secret  I  employ, 
You  would  perhaps  be  just  as  strong  as  I. 

DOLLAMA.     You  see  we  prove  we  quite  excel  your  art; 
You  cannot  cope  with  us  in  any  field, 
For  if  we  will  that  you  should  die  at  once, 
You  have  no  means  to  thwart  our  purpose  fell. 
Juan  Knolles  showed  himself  quite  kind  to  you. 
You  still  have  chance  to  live  until  we  prove 
Your  army  soaked  with  all  the  guile  we  fear. 
We  think  you  sunk  in  sloth  and  greed  and  vice, 
Like  vermin   crawling  to  pestilential   holes, 
Or  parasites  that  feed  on  human  blood. 

ERIN  (hotly).     Your  insult  shall  not  go  unavenged,  I  swear, 
At  least  the  war  we  make  is  honor's  own: 
We  kill  perhaps  in  open  light  of  day, 
But  murder  has  not  entered  on  our  books. 
We  fight  to  prove  our  valor,  strength  and  nerve, 
But  do  not  stoop  as  you  have  done  to  wound 
With  weapons  borrowed  from  the  devil's  store. 
Sergeant!      Come  here! 

(Enter   Sergeant    Sweeney,    who    salutes   and    looks   aghast 
when  he  sees  Erin  make  a  futile  effort  to  move  his  arms  in 
return.) 
It  is  time  for  the  review? 

SWEENEY.     The  general  and  his  staff  come  by  this  way 
Right  now:      He  goes  to  see  the  battle  play 
Upon  the  upper  grounds.     But  you  are  ill? 

ERIN.     No  matter.     I  have  guests  for  him  to  see. 

DOLLAMA    (sneeringly).      I    thought    you    would    refer    to 

higher  rank. 
We  make  our  fight  alone,  while  you  need  aid. 

ERIN  (sternly).     Our  army  does  not  stand  upon  its  tip 
Like  a  pyramid  inverted  in  the  sand. 
My  youth  perforce  must  hold  its  horses  in 
Before  my  seniors  in  command  and  age. 

(Enter  Bowpoint  with  two  or  three  staff  officers  following 
him  silently  and  respectfully.  He  is  an  immense  man  of 
about  sixty  with  piercing  black  eyes  and  abundant  silver 
hair.) 

ERIN.      General,   two   strangers   come   from   distant   shores. 
Deep  versed  in  ancient  oriental  lore. 
They  question  all  our  ways  and  seem  to  doubt 
Our  faith  and  patriotic  truth.      (Turning  to  Dollama).     Your 
names? 

DOLLAMA.     Alasa  Dollama  is  my  name;   my  friend 
Is  Juan  Knolles. 


BOWPOINT    (extending    his    hand).      I    welcome    you,    my 

friends. 

We  go  to  see  the  brigade  in  exercise 
Upon  the  hills.     I  hope  you  will  come  with  us. 

DOLI.AMA    (showing  his   teeth).     I   hope  your  troops   are 

not  like  this  young  man. 
We  tried  his  nerve  and  found  it  lily  weak. 
Like  a  blade  of  grass  that  breaks  at  stroke  of  whip, 
Or  a  house  of  mud  that  crumbles  in  the  wind, 
He  cowered  in  the  teeth  of  what  we  said. 

KNOLLES.     You  see  he  cannot  even  keep  his  legs, 
But  staggers  like  a  man  inflamed  with  rum. 

(A  paralysis  similar  to  that  which  seized  his  arms  attacks 
Erin  in  the  legs.  He  stumbles  to  his  knees  then  with  a 
fearful  effort  that  makes  him  black  in  the  face  with  the 
muscles  standing  out  like  cords,  he  rises.) 

ERIN.     General,  you  must  know  the  truth  at  once. 
These  men  come  here  with  foul  intent  to  kill. 
They  have  some  skill  in  foreign  magic  black. 
They  have  tried  to  take  my  life  by  will  alone, 
By  will  so  charged  with  villainous  design 
They  seem  to  have  the  aid  of  fiends  unseen, 
\Vho,  clustering  many  thousands  deep  in  air, 
Give  their  support  to  work  a  murder  plot. 

DOLLAMA.     WTe  are  convinced  your  army  needs  a  shock. 
The  grime  and  rust  are  thick  upon  your  arms. 
You  fight  to  get  your  pay  and  nothing  more, 
While  the  country  in  your  care  is  near  the  brink 
Of  ruin  in  the  dark  abyss  of  things. 

BOWPOINT.     If  this  i?  war,  then  be  it  so, — come  on. 
We  camp  next  month  beneath  the  shade  of  trees 
So  vast  the  sun  scarce  penetrates  their  gloom; 
But  our  camp-fires  burn  from  morn  to  darkest  night 
And  we  fight  and  fight  and  always  fight  for  truth. 
Be  you  our  guests;   apply  your  blackest  art, 
And  find  us  armed  to  our  very  teeth  and  bones. 
For  today,  farewell! 

(Exit  Bowpoint  and  staff.) 

KNOLLES.     A  grand  old  boy!     It  seems  we  met 
The  weakest  first  in  you,  young  man  so  frail. 

ERIN  (maintaining  his  standing  posture  with  difficulty  and 
moving  his  hands  very  slightly.) 

ERIN.     So  frail  you  say?     I  can  refuse  to  die: 
And  I  will  take  my  second  vow  today: 
I'll  see  inrough  miles  of  intervening  space, 
And  time  that  makes  us  veriest  slaves  in  leash. 
I'll   see  with  glance  excelling  yours,  Dollama, 
And  you  shall  learn  to  die  before  I'll  yield 
To  your  friend's  sharp  thrusts  of  murder-shapened  will. 


(The  beating  of  drums  from  the  parade-ground  is  heard 
in  the  distance.  Enter  Ingram.) 

INGRAM.     My  Gabriel,  how  white  you  look!      (To  Dollama 

and  Knolles.) 
Salute  the  king! 

DOLLAMA.     My  eyes  divined  the  boy  would  seize  a  crown 
In  these  strange  days  when  crowns  are  worn  no  more, 
And  so  I  came  this  way  to  cut  him  down. 
Knolles,  we  were  right,  we  have  come  here 
To  kill  the  king! 

(Knolles  moves  toward  Erin,  and  bends  his  eyes  on  him  as 
if  to  paralyze  him  still  further.  Instead  Erin  steps  forward 
with  a  free  movement,  throws  his  head  back,  makes  the 
salute  to  Sweeney,  who  has  been  standing  open-mouthed  all 
the  time,  and  marches  off  the  stage.) 

INGRAM.     I  said,  Salute  the  king! 

CURTAIN. 

ACT  2.  (Scene:  Military  camp  in  the  redwoods  near 
Cazadero,  California.  Twilight.  Camp  fires  burning  in  the 
distance.  Deep  beautiful  redwoods;  picket  lines  just  outside 
of  which  Helgolia  Crook  and  Fantasia  Crating  are  sitting. 
Helgolia  is  a  large,  handsome  woman  of  about  forty-five. 
Fantasia,  beautiful  courtesan  of  about  thirty.  Two  months 
later.) 

HELGOLIA.  I  suppose  you  know  this  is  a  camp  for  men, — • 
We  run  a  risk  so  near  their  picket  line. 

FANTASIA.  Not  I. — they  squirm  and  risk  their  very  necks 
To  get  one  glimpse  of  me, — that's  why  I  came. 

HELGOLIA.     I  stoop  a  fearful  length  in  talk  with  you. 
Only  our  bond  of  sex  could  make  me  bend 
To  make  a  common  cause  with  such  as  you. 

FANTASIA.     Why  tell  me  that?     Your  motive  in  your  face 
ts  written  large, — there  is  some  end  of  self 
Leads  you  to  want  me  for  your  ready  tool. 
Who  is  the  man? 

HELGOLIA.     Astute  like  all  your  kind! 
An  enemy  to  woman's  hope  is  here, 
I  had  the  message  (from  those  wires  we  use 
Of  subtle,  rapid,  telegraphic  news,) 
That  Ambition  come  to  life  once  more,  full-armed, 
Walks  rampant   and  unchecked   in   soldier's   guise, 
That  a  young  man  fights  to  gain  a  power  supreme. 

FANTASIA.     You  hate  him  just  for  very  hate  of  power 
That  centered  in  a  single  mind  may  work 
A  tyrant's  ruin,  or  does  your  venom  come 
From  sources  nearer  to  your  own  desire? 

HELGOLIA.     Enough  he  is  a  man,  a  sex  abased! 
The  day  has  passed  when  empires  in  the  van 

90 


Of  progress'  mighty  march,  were  to  triumph  led 

By  the  masculine  sex  alone;    the  day  is  ours! 

The  women   ride   with   wings  of  victory, 

Their  path  unchallenged  in  the  velvet  night, 

And  through  the  waters  of  the  rushing  tide. 

Although  long  the  future  has  been  held  our  own, 

The  men  have  robbed  us  of  the  potent  Present, 

The  Present  that  invincible,  untamed, 

Stands  like  a  sentinel  in  armor  clad, 

With  brass  and  steel  and  iron  chains  combined, 

Against  the  intrusions  of  future  time  and  past. 

On  his  brow  a  diamond  shines  with  lustre  rare, 

For  whose  full  beam,  the  whole  world  fighting  strives. 

FANTASIA.     You  speak  in  parables:   show  me  the  man. 
You  want  him  landed  in  corruption's  net, 
A  net  that  never  yet  has  wound  round  you. 

HELGOLJA.     For  a  moment  come  with  me  behind  this  tree. 
To  comes  and  with  him  one  on  whom  he  leans. 

(Helgolia    and    Fantasia    withdraw    behind    one    of    the   big 
trees.) 

(Enter  Erin  and  Ingram.) 

ERIN,     it  is  strange  Dollama  keeps  so  still  these  days; 
Perhaps  he  and  his  friend  are  won  to  calm  and  peace, 
By  arts  the  General  knows  so  well  to  use. 

INGRAM.     I  think  they  both  lie  low  to  spring  again; 
There  is  something  of  the  snake  in  Dollama's  curves. 
So  sinuous,  soft  and  smooth,  you  would  not  dream 
A  poison  gathered  in  his  ready  fangs, 
Or  that  his  muscle  nerves  were  trained  to  crush. 
I  know  we  are  as  calm  as  if  we  smoked 
The  pipe  of  peace  in  an  Indian's  silent  camp. 
The  perfume  of  the  sweet,  narcotic  weed 
Is   in  our   nostrils   breathing   without   sound. 
The  stillness  of  the  silk-green  shadow  here, 
Would  tempt  the  god  of  wakefulness  to  sleep, 
And  yet  both  night  and  day  we  form  our  troops 
In  battle  line!     What  noise  is  that,  do  you  hear? 

(There  is  a  rustling  of  the  skirts  of  Helgolia  and  Fantasia 
who  step  from  behind  the  trees.) 

FANTASIA.     The  camp  is  warm;  can  you  tell  me  where  to 
drink? 

ERIN.     I  will  bring  some  water  from  the  spring  near  by. 

(Exit  Erin.) 

HELGOLIA.     A  touch  of  chivalry  marks  that  young  man. 
One  cannot  but  note  his  face;  he  is  unlike 
The  usual  fighting  man.     He   rather  seems 
To  have  won  his  spurs  in  ancient  tournament 
Amid  the  excitements  of  a  regal  court. 
He  has  a  haughty  air,  a  defiant  brow, 

91 


As  if  he  would  the  impossible  attain. 

INGRAM.     He  is  a  youth  of  promise  and  good  fame. 

FANTASIA.     So  sweet  he  must  be  mirrored  many  times 
In  women's  eyes. 

INGRAM.     He  loves  his  friends,  the  men 
Of  his  own  regiment,  but  no  one  else; 
He  has  never  looked  on  woman's  face  with  love. 

HELGOLIA.       You    keep    from    him     the    worldly    side    of 

things, 

Because  you  destine  him  for  some  high  career! 
Fantasia,  this  is  the  man  of  whom  I  spoke. 

(Enter  Erin  with  the  water  which  he  hands  to  Fantasia.) 

FANTASIA.      That    is    the    sweetest    thing    my    lips    have 

touched. 

I  have  walked  through  many  weary  miles  of  sand, 
With   blazing  sun  upon   my  blistering  skin, 
And  not  a  friend  to  say,  "Good  day."     "Rest  here. 
Now  if  you  do  not  mind  I'll  kiss  you,  dear. 

(She  bends  forward  with  unctuous,  pursedup  lips.  Erin 
starts  and  draws  back  horrified,  while  Helgolia  bursts  into 
derisive  laughter.) 

ERIN.     No,  no,  I  do  not  kiss,  I  never  will. 

HELGOLIA.     And  yet  you  dare  to  call  yourself  a  man? 
The  right  to  be  a  man  is  only  won 
When  woman's  luscious  lips  have  matched  with  yours. 
A  soldier  and  you  blush  like  this,  oh  fie! 

ERIN.     My  lips  are  sacred  to  the  love  who  waits 
For  me  in  some  far  land  as  yet  unseen, 
That  I  shall  reach  when  my  long  fight  is  done. 
And  if  in  battle's  midst  with  clashing  arms, 
My  life  must  pass  unto  its  mortal  end, 
Why  still  I'll  keep  the  tryst  with  my  sacred  dream, 
And  hold  myself  forever  pure  for  her. 

HELGOLIA.     The  boy  is  very  young;  he  has  yet  to  learn. 

INGRAM    (to    Fantasia).      Perhaps    you   will    transfer    your 
kiss  to  me? 

FANTASIA.     You  scarcely  are  so  dear, — you  will  have  to 
wait. 

(Enter  Dollama,  Knolles  and  Jones.) 

JONES.     You  have  women  in  the  camp,  and  I  not  here? 
An  introduction  please. 

INGRAM.     I   don't  know  their  names. 

HELGOLIA.     Names  don't  count:     I  want  to  learn  to  fight. 
Why  should  you  men  usurp  the  field  of  arms? 
I  have  learned  to  fence  with  rapier  and  broad  swords, 
And  I  would  shoot,  as  well  and  ride  and  kill. 

KNOLLES.     You   shall  have  a   prize,   if  you   learn   to  kill 
like  me. 

DOLLAMA.     At  last  we  come  upon  the  truth  of  things. 

92 


Like  you,  Madame,  I  visit  in  this  camp, 
Whose  order  stifles  with  its  monotony. 
The  flowered  surface  of  a  mountain  slope 
Is  never  half  so  fair  as  when  the  gas 
Of  under-earth  has  gathered  to  explode 
And  plunge  the  outer  crust  in  blackening  fire. 
I  thought  it  strange  no  women  followed  here. 

HELGOLIA    (aside    to   Dollama.)       You     have    a    face     of 

strange  alluring  charm, 
Perhaps  you  have  a  purpose  like  my  own! 

JONES    (approaching   them).     Dollama   is  right, — we   need 

some  women  here 
To  applaud  our  work  and  laugh  when  we  come  back. 

(Fantasia,  Ingram  and  Knolles  form  one  group  flirting; 
while  Helgolia  and  Dollama  are  in  another.  Erin  is  by  him 
self  sternly  regarding  them.  Enter  Col.  Cummings.) 

CUM'MINGS.     Erin,  what  curious  game  of  dice  is  this? 

ERIN.     Sir,  I  do  not  know,  they  look  mosf  strange. 

CUMMINGS.     I  must  disturb  this  revelry  at  once. 
The  orders  are  no  women  enter  here. 
Ladies,  the  road  to  town  lies  over  there. 

(Fantasia,  who  has  been  standing  next  to  Knolles,  faints.) 

KNOLLES.  The  roa,d  lies  quite  ten  miles  on  a  dusty  way,— 
This  lady  languishes  and  cannot  walk. 

ERIN    (starting).     Juan  Knolles  at  his  tricks  again,  I  see! 

INGRAM.     She  cannot  go  and  should  not  stay  alone! 

HELGOLIA.     You  will  not  dare  to  drive  me  from  her  side! 
This  government  has  now  defrauded  me, 
Depriving  me  of  army  rank  and  pay, 
Although  I  am  a  soldier  of  fair  fame. 

CUMMINGS.     Madam,  the  army  list  is  made  of  men. 

HELGOLIA.     Of  men?     What  constitutes  a  man,  I  say? 
Not  one  of  you  can  do  the  things  I  do. 
I  fence  and  conquer,  write  and  organize; 
A  million  women  rise  at  my  command. 
Of  untainted  life,  I  scorn  your  open  grime. 
You  dare  not  send  me  forth;   I  hurl  the  glove! 

DOLLAMA.     We'll  have  some  sport  of  rich  revealing  now; 
It  will  be  fun  to  kill  when  killing  is  earned. 
Colonel,  I  think  that  you  should  let  her  stay! 

KNOLLES.       This     lady     is     growing     worse, — the     night 

comes  on, 
You  cannot  play  the  inhuman  brute  towards  her. 

CUMMINGS  (at  a  loss  what  to  do).     Give  them  a  tent,  but 

I'll  have  no  nonsense  here. 
The  officer  whose  head  is  turned  is  lost. 

(Exit  Cummings.) 

KNOLLES.     The    martinet    has    gone    so    we    can    have 

93 


A   merry   bout   or  two  with   these  fond  girls. 

(Fantasia  comes  out  of  her  faint.) 

FANTASIA.     How    strange!     A   moment   since    I    felt    quite 

dead! 

And   now  my   blood   runs   swiftly   as  bright  champagne 
When   the  cork  is  drawn  and   it  bubbles   sparkling  forth. 

INGRAM.     Speak  in  a  lower  tone  if  you   want   to   stay. 

DOLLAMA.     I   like   her    conversation    as    it   is, — 
Of   tropical    luxuriance   rich    and   full, 
It   reminds   me  of  our   gorgeous   groves   at  home, 
Where  the  tiger  and  the  python  rove  in  mud 
Perfumed  with  odors  of  the  jungle  flower, 
And    streams   where    live   in    boiling   eddies   free, 
A   million   tiny    throbbing   things    that   swim. 

INGRAM,.     The    commanding    officer    is    very     strict,— 
We  lose  our  honor,   place  and   army   rank 
It'  we  disobey. 

DOLLAMA.  You  have  a  choice  to  make 
Between  obedience  to  your  colonel's  rules, 
And  the  speedy  death  that  Knolles  and  I  can  work. 

HELGOLIA.      This    Oriental    has    a    way    like    mine.     (To 

Dollama.) 

Suppose  we  join   to  make  attack   on   them, 
And   prove   these   bold   gallants   but  strutting  fools? 

DOLLAMA.     Your  presumption   quite  outruns   your   mental 

view, 

If  you  think  that  I  ally  with  any  one. 
f  am  almost   sure  you   should   be  first  to  die, 
Your   boasting  is   so   large;    an    unsexed    thing, 
Too  monstrous  for  a  woman's  soft   unfolding, 
Too  intense  and  cruel  for  a  man's  sane  force, 
A  hybrid  preying  on  all  simpler  kinds, 
Of  an  influence  ferocious  and  malign, 
You  come  most  aptly  here  to  prove  me  right 
In  claiming  that  the  human  race  is  spent 
And  tottering  to  a  last  ignoble  eclipse. 

HELGOLIA.     Why   turn   your  ugly   prying  eyes  on   me? 
I   wear  a  woman's  dress  and  am   not  young. 
Take  that  proud  lieutenant  standing  there, 
Disdainful,  shocked  at   every  word  we  say, 
He   fancies  he   can   live   without  my   sex, 
And   fancies   wrong, — just   watch   the   pulling   down 
Of  those  tall  and  selfish  vain  ideas  of  his. 

FANTASIA.     Who'll  take  my  bet  I'll  kiss  this  virgin  youth, 
Before    midnight    falls   upon    our    slumbering   camp? 

(Helgolia  laughs  and  prods  Jones  who  is  standing  near  her.) 

HELGOLIA.      You    are    so    proud    of    this    young    whelp    of 

yours, 
Reply    at   once!      Take    up    the    bet!     Be   quick! 

94 


JONES    (excited).     I   swear  by  yonder  evening  star  full-lit, 
That,  as   we   speak,   the   Western   Heaven   mounts, 
That  Gabriel  Erin  is  from  vice  immune. 
That   he   will   never   curve   his   perfect   lips, 
Except    to    kiss    of   holy    wedded    wife. 
If  Erin  fails,  I  will   wed  this  woman  here, 
Although  her  age  by  years  exceeds  my  own. 

(He   puts   his   arm    roughly   about   Helgolia. ) 

HELGOLIA.     I  am  not  loth,  young  man,  it  wouKl  be  a  way, 
To  enter  in  the  army  ranks  I  crave. 
Fantasia!      Win! 

FANTASIA.     There   is   no   doubt   I   will. 
I   see  him   quiver   in   the   soft   night   breeze. 

(Erin    with    quivering    nostril    and    bracerl    shoulders    takes 
the  center  of  the  stage.) 

ERIN.     How  dare  you  make  me  subject  of  a   bet? 
This    scene    already    borders    on    disgrace; 
Our   officers    stand    here    in   abject   fear 
Of  Dollama  and  his  friend  and   their  black  art, 
While  an   abandoned   woman    tries   to   work   her    spell! 
Before  I  would  admit  her  tainted  touch. 
I  would  run  with  enchantment's  speed  of  flying  feet, 
To  lonely   caves   deep   down   in   mountain's   depths: 
I   will   turn   my   nerves   to   unflinching,   hardened    steel, 
And  defy  her  to  advance  against  my  will! 

(Fantasia,  Helgolia,  Dollama,  and  Knolles  set  up  a  howl 
of  ghoulish,  horrible  laughter  and  jeering.  Ingram  and  Jones 
stand  in  the  rear  frightened.  Night  comes  on  and  the  fires 
of  the  camp  in  the  distance  burn  fitfully  but  brilliantly.) 

FANTASIA.  He  dares  me  to  advance  one  step,  the  fool! 
Gabriel  Erin,  you  cannot  live  without  me! 

(She  makes  a  step  towards  him  while  he  stands  rigid  and 
white  in  the  starlight.  Enter  General  Bowpoint  who  has 
heard  the  laughter  and  the  last  remark.) 

BOWPOINT     (sternly).     Lieutenant     Erin,     what     strange 

scene  is  this? 

Two  women  in  the  camp  with   vulgar  mirth! 
They   must   leave   at    once,   Ingram, — away    with    them! 
And  you  young  Gabriel  Erin,  are  under  arrest. 
Jones,  you  clear  the  camp  and  call  the  guard. 
The  guests  will  go  with  me  while  Erin  stays 
Alone  just   ten   yards  from   the  picket  fence. 
One  step  beyond  and  you  know  the  penalty. 

(Exeunt  Bowpoint  with  Dollama  and  Knolles,  and  Ingram 
and  Jones  with  Helgolisa  and  Fantasia  all  looking  fright 
ened.) 

ERIN   (alone).     I  did  not  bring  these  women  to  the  camp, 
And  more  than  any  I  loathe  their  presence  here, 
Yet   I   must   pay    the    forfeit;    JUSTICE    DEAD! 


The  silence  of  the  night  upon  my  heart, 

Is  like  a  weight  of  a  million  iron  tons; 

It  is  as  if  the  earth's  whole  atmosphere 

Condensing  to  a   space  of  little  width 

Were  pressing  down  upon  my  being  frail. 

Great  God!    enthroned  in   everlasting  light, 

Have  I  presumed  in  trying  to  be  king? 

Has    punishment    so    soon    upon    me    come, 

To  extinguish  aspiration's  holy  aim? 

How   strange  the  camp-fires  glow  across  the  wood! 

They  do  not  seem  to  be  of  our  own  make, 

But   rather    phantasms    of   the    eternal    fire, 

That  beckon  now  with  ghostly  tongues  of  flame, 

To   some   strange   sights  and   sounds  before  unknown 

In  my  short  life's  continual  tug  and  strain. 

The  night  is  warm  with  summer's  heaving  breath, 

Yet  fingers  from  the  frozen  northern  pole, 

Seem  to  trifle  with  my  spinal  nerves. 

Can  it  be  that  death  advances  with  such  steps? 

Not  yet!     Not  yet!     It  is  not  time  for  that! 

I  must  lead   my  men, — they  waver  under  me; 

The  earth  in  feeble  hands  is  rocking  down 

To  some  dark  chasm  of  prehistoric  night. 

I  must  bear  the  burden  in  the  crunching  snow, 

Invoke  great  Justice, — violated,  sad, — 

Once   more  to  sweep   the  putrid   ashes  here. 

Once  more  benign  to  reign  o'er  suffering  men. 

I  suffer  too!     The  pangs  are  in  my  flesh, 

I   could  scream  in  maddening,   sickening  wrath   and  pain, 

And  pray  for  love's   sweet  ecstasy  and  rest. 

But  no!     I  said  I  would  be  king;    alone 

A  king,  must   stand,   though   murder  claims  his   youth. 

What   sound   is  that?     A  murmur  scarcely  heard, 

As  if  the  whispering  leaves  had  sympathy, 

It  trembles  on  the  silent,  heated  air 

Like  music  in  a  cello's  waiting  strings, 

Before  the  master  touches  them  to  life. 

How   strange!     I   thought  I  heard   a   voice   so   soft, 

It  never  could  have  come  from  mortal  throat, — 

I  seem  to   see, — great  God,  what  man  is  that? 

(Enter  the  ghost  of  Marcus  Aurelius.) 

GHOST.     I  saw  you  standing  there  alone,  not  one 
To  bring  you  comfort,  hope  or  surcease  from  care. 
You  must  stand  like  that  through  all  your  earthly  days, 
Bridegroom  of  pain,  the  greatest  of  all  slaves. 

ERIN.     Great  Spirit,  who  are  you  who  speak  like  this? 
What  gloomy  prophecy  is  this  you  give? 

GHOST.     A  stoic  emperor  of  the  Roman  time, 
Marcus  Aurelius  who  struggled  to  be  just, 

96 


Just   to  all  the  world,   though   sorrow's  friend 
Himself. 

ERIN.     I  would  carve  my  way  through  Fea«  of  blood, 
And  cut  my  feet  on  fields  of  sharpened  knives, 
To  be  one  moment  like  your  august   self. 

GHOST.     Be  not  surprised  that  every  evil  comes 
Upon  your  aching  head:    be  firm,  be  kind. 
Though  all  the  world  should  seek   to  slaughter  you. 
Read  yonder,   starry,  blazing  sky  for  light, 
And  seek  your  empire  in  the  frigid  north. 
Look  up!      (The  ghost  points  his  finger  to  a  constellation  of 
stars  in  the  north,  which  looks  like  a  word  of  Sanskrit.) 

ERIN.     Great  emperor!     Help  me  read  the  sign! 

(There  is  a  gurgle  of  giddy  laughter  behind  the  trees  and 
Fantasia  enters.     As  she  enters,  the  ghost  disappears.) 

FANTASIA.     They   drove   me  from    the   camp,   but    I   came 

back, 

To  fulfill  my  oath  to  touch  your  virgin  lips. 
I  pretended  that  I  took  the  road  to  town, 
Then  hid  among  the  trees  and  tip-toed  here. 
The  pretty  boy  is  captive  on  parole, — 
Perhaps  he  needs  a  comrade  in  the  dark? 

ERIN.     I  need  no  comrade  but  my  own  sad  thoughts, 
And  least  of  all  a  courtesan.     Begone! 

FANTASIA.     Your  tone  is  milder  than    t  was  before, — 
Your  indignant  pride  was  for  your  auditors. 
Come  now,  the  night  is  soft  and  warm  and  sweet. 
No   one   listens   here;    our   lips   can   meet 
As  softly  as  the  falling  blossoms  touch 
The  ground  that  waits  their  perfume  to  receive. 

ERIN.     You   think   me   mild,   responsive   to   your   guile? 
Your  shallow  mind  could  never  sound  my  hate. 
My  loathing  is  so  large  my  human  frame 
Cannot  hold  its  vast  and   monstrous  growing  bulk. 
Like  a  locomotive  charged  with  boiling  steam, 
It  pants  to  rush  upon  your  reptile  slime, 
And   crush   you   till   existence   is  no   more. 

FANTASIA.     My    vow    grows    stronger    as    you    speak    in 

hate, — • 

Your  locomotive  is  frail   compared  to  mine. 
Now  guard   yourself  if  you   can, — my   arms   await! 

(She  makes  a  dash  towards  him.) 

ERIN.     One  fraction  of  an  inch  from  where  you  stand. 
And  I  will  shoot  your  brains  from  out  your  head! 

FANTASIA.     Boaster!     You   nave  no  weapon,   you   are   un 
armed  ! 
You  stand  upon  your  last  defense;    I  come. 

ERIN.     You  come!      Well  then,  fall  on  your  rotting  knees, 
And  crawl, — for  I  am  master  here,  I  swear. 

97 


The  command   is   mine:    and  mine   the  reigning   soul — 
The  greatest  lump  of  mud  that  blots  the  globe. 
The  foul  outpouring  of  the  Nile-bed  stream, 
Must    shrivel    and    expire    before   the   glance 
Of  one   small   shinning  star  whose   eyes   can   pierce 
From    Olympus    to    this    little    troubled    sphere. 
Behold!    (he  points  to  the  Sanskrit  constellation  in  the  north 
ern   sky.)     You  can't  look   up,  you   evil  thing. 

(Fantasia  sinks  on  the  ground  and  crawls  at  his  feet.) 

FANTASIA.     Oh  let  me  go  this  once!   don't  murder  me. 
I   want   to   live,    to   live!    oh   let,   me    go! 

ERIN.     Go  and  wallow  in  your  infamy. 
Leave  me  to  God  and  His  voices  in  the  void 
That   softly   whisper   courage   to   the   soul 
Alone  in   temptation's   ghastly   wilderness. 

(Exit  Fantasia  whimpering  and  crawling  on  her  hands  and 
knees.) 

ERIN.     Great  emperor,  come  and  speak  to  me  once  more; 
Tell  me,  is  this  the  writing  in  the   sky? 
To  be  a  king  must  I  fight  on  so  low  a  plane? 

(One  of  the  camp-fires  blazes  up  until  it  is  almost  a  con 
flagration,  while  the  laughter  of  the  officers  in  camp  is  heard 
in  the  distance.) 

No  answer!     He  comes  no  more;    the  air  grows  dense 
And  thick  with  putrid  breath;    the  august  ghost 
Cannot   rest    in    that   woman's    poisoned   atmosphere, 
The  fine  film  of  his  immortality  must  fly 
A  spot  a  courtesan  contaminates. 
How  brightly  blaze  the  fires  of  our  camp, 
So  yellow,  red  and  orange  against  the  night, 
While  with  a  diamond's  snowy  white  the  stars 
Are  calling  me  to  read  a  problem  strange. 
Great  Powers!     Is  the  question  put  to  me, 
A  combat  with  the  myriad  hosts  of  vice? 
Is  this  the  riddle  I  must  solve  or  die? 
I  am  icy  cold  though  all  this  place  is  warm. 
I  seem  to  feel  the  north  wind's  freezing  blast, 
And  see  myself  alone  in  gloomy  state, 
Controlling   many   yet   not   loved   by   one. 
Can  I  sustain  a  solitude  so  great, 
Always  be  as  now  I  stand,  alone,  alone! 

(Enter  Knolles  with   stealthy  step.) 

KNOLLES.     You  flatter  yourself  to  think  you  are  alone, 
For  I  stand  here,  and  many  foes  besides. 

CURTAIN. 

ACT  3.  (Scene:  Dungeon  in  the  military  prison  at  Al- 
catraz.  A  small  cell.  Dim  daylight  coming  through  a  small 
window, — also  a  small  lamp  burning.  Erin  discovered  seated 

98 


meditating.     Sergeant    Sweeney    standing    up    anxiously    peer 
ing  through  the  window.     Six  months  later.) 

SWEENEY.     I    hope,     Lieutenant,    that    your    freedom     is 

near, — 
This  is  no  place  to  hold  a  man  like  you. 

ERIN.     I  thank   you,  Sergeant,  you  are  my  only  friend. 
Six  months  of  this  caged  life  is  worse  than  hell. 
It  seems  a  thousand  years  since  I  saw  the  day, 
And   self-commanding,   stepped   out    my   own    free    way. 
Every  time  a  footfall  sounds  outside, 
I  think  at  last  my  rescue  is  in  sight. 
My  ears  attuned  to  this  vain  listening, 
Are  subtle,  sharp,  alert,  like  those  of  dogs, 
Who  run  in  chase  beside  the  hunter's  gun. 
.My   eyes  grow  blind  as  my  ear-nerves  tingle   more, 
The  very  springs  of  life  and  hope  it  seems, 
All  centered  in  the  sense  of  hearing  now. 
AND  YET  NO  ORDER   COMES. 

SWEENEY.     What  do  you  hope? 

ERIN.     Why   surely,  nothing  worse  than  a  reprimand. — 
I  did  no  wrong,  but  only  seemed  at,  fault. 
Because  a  wanton   woman  followed   me 
Into  the  camp. 

SWEENEY.     But,    sir,    there    was   more    than    that, — 
They  blame  you  for  those  queer  dark  men  round  here, — 
For  Knolles  with  his  cursed  evil  spells, 
And  Dollama  with  his  prying,  wicked  eyes. 

ERIN.     I  answered  every  unjust  charge  in  court; 
And    looking    straight    with    cold    defiance    stern 
Into  the  cruel,  smirking  faces  there, 
I  charged  them  all  with  lying  and  black  fraud. 
They  could  prove  no  guilt  on  any  line  they  searched, 
And  yet  I  languish  here  with  vermin  damp, 
And  hear   no   word   of   acquittal   or   release. 

SWEENEY   (apprehensively).     The  case  is  worse  than  you 

would  dare  suppose, 

You  have   not   heard   that   men   are   dying  fast, 
That  day  by  day  they  are  hurried  to  their  graves, 
The  victims   of  those   fiendish   friends   of  yours? 

ERIN.     Sweeney,  you  do  not  mean  that  this  is  true? 
Then  Dollama  and  Knolles  should  go  to  jail  and  hang. 

SWEENEY.     Not  they!     The  officers  stand  in  too  great  a 

fear 

Of  the  governments  they  represent,  besides 
No  one  can  prove  a  murder  at  their  hands. 
They   use  no  poison,  bludgeon,   knife   or  gun, 
But  just  their  wits  infernally  combined. 
We  never  know  who  will  be  the  next  to  fall, — 
And  you  are  held  to  be  enchanted,  weird, 


Because  they  had  no  art  to  conquer  you. 

You  walked  right  out  from  their  dark  magic  hold, 

And  so,  there  is  a  rumor  that  you  stand 

In  sympathy  with  these  bold  devils'  work. 

ERIN.     Sweeney,  you  are  more  a  man  than  many  men 
Who  wear  the  shoulder  straps, — you  are  the  first 
To   tell   me   in   what   maddening   labyrinth 
Our  army  is  entangled.     I  prayed  for  light; 
I  begged  with  all  my  breath  and  heart  and  soul, 
For  just  one  word  of  explanation,  to  clear 
The  clouds  of  doubt  that  hung  upon  my  brain 
Like  curtains  of  black  velvet  which,   with  jet 
Embroidered,  shut  out  every  gleam  of  sun, 
And    oppressed    me    with    their    sombre    funeral    weight. 
My  will  alone,  and  just  tne  flickering  glimpse 
Of  some  far  goal  I  yet  must  strive  to  reach, 
Sustained  me  on  the  brink  of  smiling  death. 
And  now  you  tell  me  in  what  plight  they  stand, 
How  menaced  by  a  power  they  cannot  see, 
And  have  no  means  to  measure,  my  bosom  heaves 
With  deepest  pity.     I  yearn  to  break  my  bonds, 
To  rise  once  more,  in  enchantment  strong  and  free, 
To  lead  them  on  to  some  far  height  unwon, 
And  march   with   dazzling  banners   streaming  blithe, 
Right  to  the  battle  ice  of  the  Arctic  pole. 

SWEENEY.     Lieutenant,   I   know  their   only   hope   is   you, 
And  yet  they  leave  you  to  a  prison  fate. 

(Enter  Eraser  in  full-dress   uniform.) 

ERASER.     Erin,  my  boy,  it  is  sad  to  see  you  here. 
We  have  come  to  make  an  official  call  to-day 
Upon  the  colonel  of  your  island  jail. 
I  ran  away  to  have  a  talk  with  you. 
You  must  be  eager  for  the  Presidio  news. 
Helgolia  Crook  is  now  the  bride  of  Jones! 

ERIN.     How  can  that  be?     Jones  did  not  lose  his  bet! 

FRASER.     I  was  not  there  to  hear  the  bet,  but  know 
Its  history;    and  no  one  else  was  there, 
To  see  you  win  or  lose  for  him,  poor  chap! 
And  yet  it  is  current  talk  you  ruined  him, — 
Fantasia   swears  she  won  a  midnight  kiss, 
From  you  on  parole  in  the  summer  scented  wood, 
And   Knolles  claims  he  heard   your   meeting  lips. 

ERIN.     Once  more,   I   say,   they   lie   and   lie   and   lie! 
I  would  trust  them  less  than  ashes  that  careless,  dead, 
Sweep  from  a  former  majesty  of  fire, 
To  ignominy  in  sewer  depths,  down  sunk 
Amid   the   rubbish   pouring  to  the   sea. 
Unhappy,  aimless,  sad,  undone  and  ill, 
Our  men  are  sick  with  a  fate  of  ponderous  gloom, 

100 


And  vent  their  rage  upon  the  innocent. 
They  kill  the  very  one  whose  ready  arm 
Would  help  them  to  a  fairer  field,  and  fame 
That  always   comes  upon  the  heels  of  right. 

FRASER.     To  rail  is  useless  now  the  deed  is  done; 
Helgolia  like  a  clumsy  elephant, 
Is  now  a  member  of  our  fighting  hosts. 
With   endless   vigilance   she   goads  and  prods 
The  luckless  officers,  poor  Jones  the  worst! 
She  threatens  to  bring  her  clan  of  petticoats 
To  overwhelm  the  feeble  race  of  men, 
And  laugh  and  hiss  at  an  army  in  retreat, 
Before  the  Amazons  of  the  modern  time. 

(Enter  Col.  Cummings.) 

CUMMINGS.     A  jolly  jail  this  seems  to  be  young  men, 
You  sit  and  chat  as  if  you  were  on  leave 
To  indulge  your  folloy  to  the  last  extent. 

FRASER.     Erin   is  here  in    silent   loneliness; 
I  thought  he  might  enjoy  a  talk  with  me. 

CUMMINGS.     HE  MIGHT  ENJOY  A  TALK!      Why  should 

he  enjoy? 

It  is  time  he  learnt  to  suffer  through  and  through, 
To  bear  a  soldier's  meed  of  smarting  pain. 
An  officer  disgraced  has  not  the  right 
Even  to  name  in  thought  the  word  "enjoy." 

ERIN.     Colonel,  you  speak  as  if  I  had  not  paid 
My  price  of  bitter  suffering  for  a  wrong, 
I  truly   never  even   dreamed   of  doing. 

CUMMINGS.     What   insolence  to   speak   in    self-excuse! 
You  who  have  so  tarnished  our  fair  army  fame, 
And  sold  your  regiment  to  contempt  and  scorn! 
The  dungeon  is  too  soft  a  place  for  you, 
You  should  be  taken  to  the  open  field, 
And  before  a  thousand  troops  assembled  there, 
Whipped  till  all  your  skin  turned  black  and  blue! 

ERIN.     Such  brutal  discipline  is  obsolete. 
It  is  enough  that  I  have  languished  here 
Six  months  on  prison  fare  and  in  suspense, 
Not  daring  to  hope  my  sentence  would  be  light, 
Or  that  for  all  my  perfect  innocence, 
I  should  escape  with  the  general's  reprimand. 

CUMMINGS.     A    reprimand?     You    should    be    lashed    and 

stung 

To  the  very  bone;   through  you  we  are  abased, 
In  the  eyes  of  the  curious  public  staring  hard. 
They  joke  because  our  officers  are  gay, 
And  loll  in  camp  with  women  of  lewd  fame. 
They  sneer  because  we  seem  so  helpless,  weak 
In  the  hands  of  two  fanatics  from  the  East. 

101 


Already  fifteen  deaths  of  enlisted  men,  'j 

And  desertions  numbering  in  the  hundreds,  tell 

How  near  we  stand  to  crash  and  public   shame. 

As  colonel  of  the  regiment,   the   blame 

Falls  down  on  me:    the  general  scowls,  and  swears 

We  must   conquer  every  foe,  without,   within. 

And  you  who  are  the  cause  of  all,  go  first. 

ERIN.     Is  that  the  general's  word   you  bring   to  me? 
CUMMINGS.     He  has  sent  no  order,  but  I  know  his  mind. 
ERIN  (standing  up  angrily).     Then  how  dare  you  take  upon 

yourself  the  task 
Of  flogging  me  with  your  petty,  fiery  tongue? 

CUMMINGS.     You    add    the    crime    of    questioning    what    I 

say? 
Insubordination!      Sergeant  here!      At  once! 

(Sweeney  advances.) 

Put  this  man   in  irons  and  keep  him   so. 
(Exit  Cummings.) 
FRASER.     I   shall   have   to  leave   you   now,-    his   temper   is 

up, 

And  any  one  of  us  may  tumble  next. 
(Exit  Fraser.) 

SWEENEY.     Lieutenant.    I   hate   to   do   this   ugly    work, 
But   you   know   my   orders   are   exact,   precise. 

ERIN.     Sergeant,  your  duty:   a  soldier  must  obey, 
Although   sometimes  the  natural  man  springs  up, 
As  it  did  just  now  in  me,  and  flings  away 
The  habit  of  a  duteous  discipline. 

(Sweeney  places  Gabriel  in  irons  which  he  picks  up  from 
a  corner  of  the  cell.) 

ERIN.     I    scarcely   know   which  jagged   path    to  choose; 
One  way  lies  a  soldier's  first  instinct; 
Just  one  small  wheel  within  the  mechanism 
Of  the  mighty  war-machine,  he  should  go  round 
And  round  and  smoothly  fill  his  duty  out 
While  the  levers  and  the  pulleys  throb  and  pant 
With  the  effort  of  the  great  concerted  work. 
And  yet  a  soldier  is  also  a  man, 
A  soul  that  trembling,   quivering,  leaps  to  God, 
And  prays  that  other  men  howe'er  they  stand 
Upon  high  pinnacles  of  the  world's  esteem, 
Should   still  be  true  and  kind  and  just, — not  beasts! 
It  is  better  not  to  live  than  to  live  a  thing 
Without,  the   spirit's  rich  informing  breath, 
Without  those  precious  echoes  of  distant,  song 
That  whisper  hope  divine  to  ebbing  hope. 
Dollama  held  that  view, — that  men  should  die 
If  they  could  not  prove  their  worth  and  right  to  live! 
They  say  I  am  like  him, — oh  no!   oh  no! 

102 


!   would   kill   no  men   but   those  base-born   and   vile 

Who  would  trample  out  the  battalions  of  the  Truth. 

In  vain  I   say  what  I  would  do,  I— I — 

A  criminal  in  irons  without  a  friend, 

Accused  of  a  soldier's  worst  dishonor,  shame. 

Tn  bringing  to  disgrace  the  flag  T  love, 

How   poor  am   I!      How   small!      Why   who  am    1? 

(Enter  Ingram.) 

INGRAM.     You  are  a  king! 

ERIN.     Ingram,  my  friend,  you  je>-i ! 

INGRAM.     You  think  that  I  could  jest   when   every  day 
1  wake  and  wonder  if  it  is  the  last,  time 
My  eyes  shall  open  on  the  unrolling  morn, 
The  stately  progress  of  the  friendly  sun, 
The  familiar  faces  of  men  at  toil  and  play, 
Who  live  unconscious  of  any   threatening  doom. 

ERIN.     An  officer  who  is  held  in  high  esteem. 
What  can  you  fear? 

INGRAM.     Dollama's  baleful  eyes, 
And   Knolles'  will;    behind  them  Orientals 
Many  millions   deep  and   demons  teeming   too, 
Are  poised;    their  destruction  darts  like  poisoned   knives 
Are  aimed  at  our  very  hearts.     I   run  and   cringe 
And  would  rather  yield  myself  to  a  twelve-inch  gun 
Than  to  the  avenging  hate  that  glittering  keen 
Makes  Dollama's  eyes  look  like  the  forts  of  hell! 

ERIN.     Loaded  down  with  chains,  what,  can  I  do? 

INGRAM.     You  alone  resist  his  midnight  spell. 
The   others   die, — full   twenty   in   their   graves 
Already  lie; — or  run  and  hide  like  me. 
Therefore  Gabriel  Erin,  you  are  king! 

ERIN.     Your  satire   ripples  through  my   quivering  nerves. 
Like  a  deadly  virus  working  in  the  veins, 
Or  acid  in  a  river's  bed  whose  streams 
From  clear  transparent  blue  to  yellow  turn. 
A  KING!      I  AM  A  SLAVE! 

(Enter  Jones,  like  the  others  in  full-dress   uniform.) 

JONES.     Far  less   than   I! 

Through  you,  to  whom  I  gave  a  faith  new-born. 
A  faith  our  very  flag  could  not  arouse, 
I  find  myself  in  a  jail,  compared  to  which 
This  is  a  bower  with  festal  roses  twined. 
Helgolia  married  me! 

ERIN.     It  was  not  my  fault! 
Fantasia  tempted   me  in  the  evening  wood, 
Like  a  serpent   coiling,  crushing  freedom's  heart. 
If  I   dared   to   speak   of   things    so   holy,   high, 
I  would  tell  you  how  borne  up  aloft  in  soul 
I  seemed  to  leave  the  clogging  earth  behind, 


And  win  a  kinship  in  the  Olympian  host. 
Against  this  transcendental  mood  of  mine, 
She  had  no  strength,  but  crawling  left  my  feet. 
And  still  they  believed  her  word  and  distrusted  me! 

JONES.     If  you   knew   the   daily  anguish  of  my  life, 
You  would  have  pity.     Helgolia  holds  the  whip 
From  dawn  to  dawn  with  her  malicious  hands. 
She  thrusts  her  lance  in  Bowpoint's  very  face; 
Enraged,  he  threatens   to  make  me  pay   the   price. 

ERIN.     Why,    oh    why    did    you    marry    her?     So    weak! 

JONES.     I  felt  I  must;   my  word  was  given;    she  pressed; 
We   had   no  proof   of  your  innocence, — I   feared 
The   leer   of  Knolles'   wrath   and   thought   I    saw 
An  opening  grave:  a  grave  that  yearned  to  suck 
My  body  in,  the  body  of  a  man 
Not  trained  to  anything  but  happy  sport. 
I   love  to  live!    to  live!    to   laugh!    to   laugh! 
I   cannot   stand   this   grinding   pain!     I   can't! 

(He  covers  his  face  with  his  hands  and  cries.) 

ERIN.     You  must  conquer  her,  diminish  her  ugly  force. 
Oh,  if  one  moment,  I  could  stand  unbound, 
I  would  fling  myself  with  the  charge  of  a  volley  fire, 
Or  rockets  that  blaze  like  lightning  through   the  sky, 
Upon  the  foes  that  turn  us  all  to  curs. 
I  would  again  defy  authority, 
And  take  from  Bowpoint  his  entire  command. 
A  thousand  wells  of  being  spring  in  me, 
As  if  from  my  very  heart  would  now  come  forth, 
A  deluge  to  engulf  the  sinning  world. 

INGRAM.     Gabriel,  brave  lad,  I  yet  will  crown  you  king! 

JONES.  Be  careful!  I  heard  some  footsteps  in  the  hall. 
Bowpoint  is  here  to-day, — he  might  hear  our  talk. 

ERIN.     Do  you  think  Bowpoint  could  intimidate  a  man 
Whom  already  frenzy  claims  her  own, 
Who  unjustly  shackled  for  a  fictitious  crime, 
Is  lower  in  the  scale  of  army  rank 
Than  the  recruit  who  first  dons  the  uniform? 
Injustice  makes  me  strong;    my  sinews  strain, 
Until  I  seem  another  Samson  with  arms 
That  could  pull  down  these  very  iron  walls. 

(There  is  a  clatter  of  swords  and  sound  of  voices  and  the 
door  opens  to  admit  Bowpoint,  who  looks  unusually  pompous 
in  his  full-dress  uniform.  He  is  accompanied  by  Cummings. 
Bitter,  Fraser  and  several  other  officers  who  are  at  his  heels 
in  the  most  servile  manner.  Ingram  and  Jones  shrink  back 
when  they  see  the  general.) 

BOWPOINT.     Gabriel    Erin,    come    forward    here    at   once; 
I  want  to  look  upon  your  presumptuous  face, 
The  face  of  one  who  wears  dishonor's  cloak, 

104 


Yet  makes  a  foolish  boast  he  will  be  king! 
Some  rumors  of  your  rash  ambitious  spring 
Are    going    the    rounds    of    every    army    post, — 
YOU!  a  young  lieutenant  from  the  Point, 
Would  grasp  a  sceptre  far  too  high  for  me! 

ERIN  (facing  him).     Am  I  to  blame  because  you  spent  your 

youth 

In  obedience  measured  out  in  petty  rules, 
Instead  of  aspiration  towards  a  goal 
The  ages  indicate  as  one  sublime? 
Come  fight  with  me, — it  is  not  too  late  for  you. 
Lend  me  experience, — I'll  give  my  soul. 
We  struggle  not  for  a  kingdom  occupied, 
But  for  a  land  as  yet  unclaimed,  unwon, 
By  leader  daring  to  carve  a  virgin  path. 

BOWPOINT.     Impertinent     youth!     you     only     forge     new 

chains. 

The  Secretary  of  War  has  set  his  seal 
Upon   this   order   I   received   to-day. 
You  are  no  longer  in  our  army  ranks, 
But  leave  forever  after  serving  here 
Six  months  in  labor  and  confinement  strict. 

ERIN.     You  cannot  mean  to  close  the  army   doors 
Against  my  future  life, — to  turn  me  out 
Into  the  friendless  streets  where  no  one  cares 
For    country,   honor,   glory    and    the    flag? 

BOWPOINT.     The     order    is     couched     in     less    elaborate 
terms; 
Dismissal;   the  word  is  plain. 

ERIN.     They  think  it  wrong 
To  be  of  earnest  purpose,  strong  and  true, 
To  wish  to  serve  with  all  one's  soul  and  might? 
Like  knights  who  dashed  with  sharpened  spears  of  steel 
Into  the  lists  where  barbarian  hosts  advanced 
With  yells  of  pagan  wrath,  I  held  myself  alert. 
For  reward,  though  innocent,  I  am  in  jail, 
And   now   deprived   of   the   very   chance  to   fight! 

BOWPOINT.     I  wish  no  argument  from  you,  young  man; 
But  you  are  not  deprived  of  any  chance. 
For  the  whole  wide  world  is  just  a  battlefield! 
Barbarian  hosts  are  never  still  but  swarm 
Like   pests  of  noxious  beasts.     Go  out, — leave  us! 
You  say  you  long  to  win  the  "martyr's  crown, 
Then  win  it  from  antagonists  so  strong, 
That  compared  with  you,  the  little  Iliad  men 
Had  simple  play  with  enemies  of  sand. 

ERIN.     Must  I  go  forth  without  a  friend,  a  cent? 
I  have  no  means  to  win  my  daily  bread, 
When  once  I  doff  the  protecting  coat  of  blue! 

105 


fi()\V POINT.     Expect  no  aid  from  me:   I  have  none  to  give. 
Dishonored   and    disgraced, —an   outcast, — go! 
And  may  the  curse  of  our  united  hate 
Pursue  you  in  whatever  slums  you  hude! 

CUMMINGS.     It  seems  to  me  his  sentence  is  most  light. 
Ten  years  would  be  a  fitter  term  in  jail 
Than  six  short  paltry  months! 

BITTER.     Just    what   I   think! 

ERIN.     But  then  in  jail  the  prisoners  are  fed; 
Without,  they  run   upon  starvation's  brink. 
I  am  sorry  boys  to  leave  you  thus  in  shame. 
I  am  sorry  Jones  you  suffer  for  my  sake. 
Remember  me  a  friend,— 

JONES   (shrinking  back).     No  friend  of  mine! 

ERIN.     Fraser,   before   you   go,   you   will   shake   my  hand? 

FRASER.     The  general   no   longer  holds  you  for  a  friend. 
No  more  can  I. 

ERIN.     You  all  desert  me  then? 
Ingram,  not  you,  you  urged  me  on  and  on, 
And  pointed  out  an  awful  courage  climb. 
Just  say  that  in  your  thoughts  you  follow  me, 
And   wish  that  I  may  conquer  even   this, — • 
The  loss  of  money,  friends  and  dearest  fame. 

INGRAM.     My  duty  to  the  general  must  preclude 
The  touch  of  softness  you  implore. 

ERIN.     I  die! 

CUMMINGS.     The  hour   is   late, — we  are   wasting   precious 
time 
In   sentiment  for  a  dishonored   man! 

BOWPOINT.     Quite  true! 
It  is  time  to  go!      The  sergeant   must,  keep  guard. 

CUMMINGS.     Sergeant,     remember,     hold     your     prisoner 
close! 

(Exit    all    the    officers,    while    Sergeant    Sweeney    advances 
and  stands  guard.) 

ERIN.     Sweeney,    and    now    you    turn? 

SWEENEY.     I  am  not  like  them. 
A  man  as  poor  as  I  can  afford  a  friend. 
And  even  if  I  go  to  jail  myself, 
I  still  will  cling  to  you. 

ERIN.     You   save  my  life! 

Just  now  it  seemed  that,  I  should  die  of  hate. 
Did  ever  in  the  whole  creation's  span 
A  man  have  such  a  debt  of  hate  as  I? 
My  imagination  reels  to  take  it  in. 
My  feeble  weight  is  hurled  against,  a  wall 
As  high  as  Himalayas  tops  up-piled 
Upon  the  frowning  Andes  and  the  Alps, 
With  our  own  brave  Rockies  looming  still  above 

106 


All  view  of  simple  mortal  sight. 

SWEENEY.     Sweet  hate! 

it  is  all  that  is  left  to  the  man  beneath  the  hoof 
Of  bloody  tyranny  full  armed  and  fierce. 
What   would   you  do? 

ERIX.     Why  hate   till   stiff  with  hate, 
My   vengeance   grows  to  elephantine   size; 
My  inmost  heart  of  hearts  in  anger  steeped 
Will  fling  its  rage  against  Dollama's  breast. — 
Dollama  who  most  wished  to  see  me  die; 
And  Knolles,  who  tried  to  execute  that  thought, 
I  would   throw  from   some  high   shivering   ice-bound   cliff 
To  an  abyss  of  crumbling  carrion  down  below. 
Fantasia  should  make  a  tryst  with  relenUess  death. 
And   Helgolia  beat  her  head  on  a  padded  cell. 

SWEENEY.     You    say   no   word   about    your    fickle   friends. 
The  traitors  who  wear  the  shoulder  straps  with  you? 

ERIN.     I   do   not   forget!     Alone   I    oppose    their   might! 
I,  single,  shackled  and  disgraced,  will  fight 
Their  whole  concerted   force  of  men  and   arms. 

SWEENEY.     You   mean  the  officers,  not   us  poor   men? 

ERIN.     No,  no:  for  if  I  win  and  gain  a  realm, 
Where  absolute  my  very   word  will   reign, 
I  will  take  you  with  me,  and  all  the  poor 
Who    stagger   under   corruption's    brazen   heels. 

SWEENEY.     Lieutenant,  your  realm  is  won:   we  will  rebel. 
Trust  me:    ten  thousand  men  will  raise  their  guns 
Against  the  tyranny  of  those  in  power. 
Old  Bowpoint  first,  and  then  the  rest  you  hate! 

ERIN.     Sweeney,  stop,  I  thought  I  heard  a  voice. 

SWEENEY,     I  will  go  and  search  the  corridor  without. 

(Exit  Sweeney.) 

ERIN.     That  voice!      The  emperor  calls  to  me  once  more! 

A    VOICE    (sepulchral    and    faint,    but    emphatic).      Though 
they  burn  and  slay  you,  still  be  just! 

ERIN    (falling   on  his   knees).     It   is   ordained    I   should  be 

kind  to  them, 

Although  they  torture  me  with  every  ill. 
Not  enough  I  have  forsworn  all  joy  and  love, 
And  vowed  myself  to  some  great  end  unknown. 
I  must  be  just  to  those  who  murder  me? 

THE  VOICE.     Like  me  you  must  be  just. 

(Enter  Sweeney.) 

SWEENEY.     I  heard  no  voice. 

(Tableau,  Erin  half  standing  up,  half  on  his  knees  with  ar 
acute  listening   expression,   and   Sweeney   looking   puzzled.) 

CURTAIN. 

ACT  4.     A  year  later.     (Scene:     A  circus  tent  in  San  Fran 

107 


Cisco,  tiers  of  seats.  Lights  turned  low.  A  few  early  spec 
tators  seated,  A  ring  in  the  center  set  for  a  prize-fight 
Jones,  Fraser  and  Ingram  discovered  in  a  conversational 
group.  They  are  dressed  in  civilian  costume,  with  soft  felt 
hats  pulled  over  their  eyes,  so  that  at  a  distance  they  are 
unrecognizable.) 

INGRAM.     I  feel  ashamed  to  cower  in  this  place, 
Yet  hate  to  think  the  boy  is  all  alone. 

FRASER.     The   prize-ring   is   a  very  low  pursuit;  — 
I  suppose  he  found  no  other  work  to  do. 

JONES.     Helgolia,  with  her  cruel,  lynx-like  eyes, 
Was  swift  upon  his  track:    she  closed  the  doors 
Of  every  other  line  of  work  for  him. 
You   know   her   influence   is   alarming,   great; 
Her  wishes  reach  like  subways  through  the  ground 
To  the  remotest  spheres  of  the  commercial  maze. 
She  vows  to  humiliate  the  race  of  men, 
Claiming  that  they  excel  but  as  mere  brutes. 

INGRAM.     Erin    then    was    forced    to    starve    or    fight? 

JONES.     Dollama  goaded  him  to  coward  death. 
With  bravery  unquenched  he  took  this  way. 
The  test  to-night  is  with  a  giant  black, 
A  negro  full  three  hundred  pounds  in  weight. 

INGRAM.     He  is  going  to  win,— the  goal  is  not  yet  lost! 

FRASER.     Was    ever   coming   king    beset   like    this? 

JONES.     And  yet  you  have  no  pity  for  my  plight! 
There   is   no   bottom   depth   of  hell   like   mine, — 
An  abject,  humble  thing,  I  kneel  to  her, 
And  beg  that  she  will  stay  her  iron  hand. 
She  laughs  and  calls  me  weakling,   slave  and  fool, 
And  boasts  she  holds  the  army  in  her  grasp, 
That  through  my  supine  feebleness  we  stand 
In   discredit  at  home  and  in  contempt  abroad. 

INGRAM.     Dollama   does   not   love   your  wife? 

JONES.     Nor  us! 

We  cannot  sell  ourselves  to  him  for  fear 
Of   her   malignant,   tentacles! 

INGRAM.     Will    he 
Be  here  to-night? 

FRASER.     Of  course:   we  must  retreat, 
Or  run  a  chance  of  meeting  Bitter's  fate. 

INGRAM.     He  still  lies  low? 

FRASER.     He  cannot  live  a  day. 
In  that  small,  futile  way  of  his,  he  flung 
Defiance  at  Dolama's  creed:    at  once, 
The  Orientals  with  mysterious  flame 
Rushed  upon  his  poor  frail  bark  of  life. 
Dollama  shot  a  glance  of  withering  hate, 
With  eye-beams  which  are  like  jets  of  scalding  steam; 

108 


Then  Knolles'  will  like  a  blasting  battery 
Struck  the  captain  sheer  upon  the  head. 
WE  want  to  live! 

JONES.     You  can't  say  that  of  me! 

INGRAM.     Some  people  come  this  way,  let  us  withdraw. 

(The  officers  withdraw  to  one  side  of  the  stage,  with  their 
hats  drawn  over  their  faces.  Enter  Erin  and  ex-sergeant 
Heinz.) 

HEINZ.     Lieutenant,  I  hope  your  nerve  is  in  good  trim. 

ERIN.     Sergeant,  I   scarcely  know  the   word   called   "fear.' 
Relentless  Destiny  has  placed  me  here, 
Wedged  me  tight  as  could  my  coffin  walls. 
Huge  blocks  of  granite  press  upon   three   sides, — 
They  crush  me  into  ignominious  death, 
Or  else  I  take  the  one  remaining  path. 

HEINZ.     This  African  will  fall  like  spongy  clay 
Before  your  athlete's  arm.     I  know  your  past. 
Sweeney  told  me  all  your  battle-list. 

ERIN.     Ah,  Sweeney  is  too  good  a  friend,  too  kind, 
He,  within  the  ranks  and  you  out  here. 
Are  just  my  two   supports,   the  slender  planks 
That  keep  me  floating  on  this  sea  of  pain. 
Were  other  men  like  you,  why  then  this  tent, 
Would  turn  to  Nature's  soft  enfolding  arms, 
To  trees  with  branches  stretched  in   soaring  prayer 
And  soft  caressing  of  the  god  of  hearts. 

HEINZ.     Don't   speak  like  that,  Lieutenant,  you   make  me 

cry. 

Were  all  men  like  you,  the  golden  age  would  come. 
Instead  of  fighting  for  our  daily  bread, 
We  should  be  building  temples  to  the  sun. 
A  woman  comes  this  way, — of  ill-fame  no  doubt. — • 
No  other  enters  in  a  prize-ring  tent. 

(Enter  Fantasia.  She  is  gowned  in  a  variegated  costume 
of  many  shades  of  magenta  and  pink  with  a  hat  made  to 
-imitate  a  golden  butterfly.) 

FANTASIA.     Gabriel  Erin,  I  must   speak  with   you. 

ERIN.     Sergeant,  withdraw.     Be  ready  when  I  call. 

(Exit    Heinz.) 

FANTASIA.     You  despise  me,  yet  I  could  not  keep  away. 

ERIN.     You  have  no  pride  to  come  where  you  are  despised. 

FANTASIA.     What  has  pride  to  do  with  a  hope  like  mine? 

ERIN.     What  have  you  to  do  with   such  a   thought? 
Hope   grows  but  in   religion's   chastened   soil, 
The  finest  bloom  and  blush  of  the  aspiring  soul 
When  it  throws  aside  the  dross  of  low  desire, 
And  strains  to  see  a  holy  vision's  light. 

FANTASIA.     But  hope  grows  also  with  a  sweet   desire. 
I  hope  to  see  your  lofty  aim  o'erturned, 

109 


Your  arduous  path  of  pain  abandoned  quite, 
And  you  asleep,  contented  in  my  arms. 

ERIN.     Although  I  stand   within  the  shade  of  doom. 
Confronted  with  a  dark,  colossal  task, 
I  almost  laugh  to  hear  you  so  presume. 
When  I  have  stood  a   thousand  tests  deep-cut 
Into  my  very  flesh  and  heart  of  hearts; 
When  I  have  forsworn  the  sweetest  birth  of  youth, 
The  chance  to  clasp  my  arms  about  a  wife, 
One  who  should  be  so  pure  and  fair  and  high, 
The  very  angels  would  adore  her  truth, 
Do  you  think  I  could  be  trapped  by  one  like  you? 

FANTASIA.     Why    yes!      For    the    very    reason    that,    you 

name! 

Bereft  of  every  softening  human   touch, 
Condemned  to  fight  with  the  lowest,  of  the  low. 
Jeered  by  a  rabble  indifferent  to  your  life, 
Forsaken   by   your   friends,   disgraced,   alone, 
With  a  far-off  goal  you  can  no  longer  see, 
One  thing  is  sure:   you  will  lose  your  hope  and  die, 
Or  turn  to  me!     I  wait! 

ERIN.     If  I  were  rich, 

I  would  buy  my  freedom  at  least  from  your  foul  taunts. 
Enough  I  face  an  ordeal  of  many  men, 
Combined  to  keep  me  on  the  anguish  rack, 
Without   your   putrid    presence   here.     I    know 
That  money  is  the  only  cure  for  you. 

FANTASIA.     If  you  win  to-night,   you   will   be  rich  enough 
Even  to  pay  for  me.     My  price  is  high. 
Helgolia's  service  is  a  princely  one; 
Every  man  corrupted  means   a  gown 
Worked  in  the  latest  Paris  mode.     You  see 
That  the  loss  of  my  persuasions  beguiling  fond 
Is  a  luxury,  yet  one  you  may  afford, 
If  you  win  the  victor's  purse. 

ERIN    (with  contempt).     If  I  win  the  purse! 
Do  you  think  I  do  this  hideous  work  for  GOLD? 
It  is  just  for  daily  bread  I  strive,  and  life, 
And  for  one  other  thing,  a  little  thing, 
Called  Pride,  a  pride  of  race,  of  self-respect, 
And  Honor  that  beats  in  me  although  denied 
By  every  other  living  soul. 

FANTASIA.     You   fool! 
Just   kiss   me   now   to   help   you   in   the   fight! 

ERIN.     I  would  rather  kiss  the  carcass  of  a   snake, 
Or  waste  of  slime  that  fills  the  ocean's  bed, 
Than  concede  one  tiny  wavering  thought  to  you. 

FANTASIA.     Then    you    must    pay!     You    will    be    rich    to 
night. 

no 


ERIX.     Release    your    grip    of    shame, — you    shall    have    the 
purse. 

FAXTASIA.     Well  said!      How  strange  a  thing  is  this  same 

pride 

That    you    will    risk    your   very   health   and    life 
To  win  a  prize  you   must  resign  to  me! 
Farewell, — -until  you  have  the  purse. 

(Exit  Fantasia.) 

ERIX.     And   now 

To  close  my  eyes  to  all  the  shouting  crowd. 
And  keep  my   aching  nerves  as   still  as  stone, 
With   Marcus  Aurelius  for  my  mentor,  guide, 
The  memory  of  the  speaking  stars  above, 
And  the  strange  sweet  voice  that,  piercing  like  a  flute, 
Through  the  silence  of  my  empty  prison  cell, 
Commanded  me  to  live  for  justice's  sake 
Although  no  bright  reward  should  glimmer  through 
The  dim,  dull  future  years. 

(Enter  Dollama  and  Knolles.) 

DO  LLAMA.     Good  evening. 
You  are  ready  for  this  jetty  Hercules? 

ERIX.     As  ready  now  as  at  any  other  time. 

DOLLAMA.     Knolles    has   a    bet    against    your    side. 
He  says  you  are  foredoomed  to  fall  to-night. 

ERIX.     Let   Knolles  look  to  his  own  account,  not   mine. 

KNOLLES.     I  do:   that  is  why  I  think  you  should  be  dead. 
Although  Dollama  and  I  have  run  a  course 
Of  crimson  crime,  with  trophies  of  the  dead. 
Who  have  perished  simply  by  our  brain  and  will. 
Untouched   by   any  implement   of  war. 
We  have  not  conquered  in  the  far.^est  field, 
Until  we  conquer  you  and  the  champion. 
This  Davis  has  the  largest  muscle  known, 
Besides  his  thickest  hide  of  ebony: 
You  stand  alone  for  nerve  high-strung  and  fine. 
And  thus  we  feel  too  poor  in  our  own  esteem, 
Till  we  have  slain  you  both. 

DOLLAMA.     So  while  you  fight, 
We  will  use  our  potent  arts  to  make  you  fail. 

ERIN.     It  is  not  fair!      You  handicap  too  much! 

DOLLAMA.     Of  course!     We  never  claimed  that   we  were 

fair. 

We  pursue  our  way  unchecked  and  unabashed. 
Our  force  makes  right:   the  feeble  fall  and  die. 

ERIN.     I  see  it  is  not  single  combat  here. 
To-night   I   meet  this   Davis   of   broad   girth, 
While  in   my  mind  I   fight  your  vile  designs. 
I  vowed  I  would  be  like  Dollama  in  black  art. 
So   Knolles   learn   that   I   have   willed   your    death. 

ill 


DOLLAMA.     The  crucial  hour  is  near. 

(Supernumeraries  enter  and  turn  up  the  lights,  while  a 
crowd  of  ruffianly  looking  men  begin  to  file  in  an  take  the 
seats.  Dollama  and  Knolles  take  seats  near  the  prize  ring. 
Exit  Erin.  Enter  Bowpoint,  Cummings  and  Helgolia.  Bow- 
point  and  Cummings,  like  the  junior  officers  in  civilian  suits 
and  disguising  soft  hats.) 

HELGOLIA.     This  is  immense! 
I  am  glad  I  came  if  it  is  considered  odd. 

CUMMINGS.     I   would   not  have  come  if  I  had  not  hoped 

to  see 

The   triumph   of  our  army   discipline. 
No  negro  can  hold  out  against  such  worth, 
Such  a  perfect  mechanism  of  brain  and  brawn. 

BOWPOINT  (to  Heloglia).  I  came  to  see  the  downfall  of 
your  cause. 

If  he  wins  to-night,  you  must  yield  to  him  the  palm; 
No  woman  ever  born  could  face  such  work. 

HELGOLIA.     He  will  not  win;    the  champion  is  too  large. 
Selected  for  his  giant  girth  and  weight, 
Unconquered  yet  and  savage  to  the  core, — 
Poor  Erin   stands  a  ghastly   chance. 

BOWPOINT.     I  swear 

That  he  will  win  to-night  by  all  the  gods 
That  from  the  dimmest  peep  of  history's  rise, 
Have  lent  their  aid  to  warriors  in  the  field. 
No  woman  enters  in  our  temple  door. 
The  power  you  claim  was  gained  by  fraud  alone. 

HELGOLIA.     Yet  you  yourself  are  afraid  of  me,  old  man. 
Why  do  you  fight  me  through  young  Gabriel? 

BOWPOINT.     To  prove  to  you  that  youth,  untainted,  pure 
Full-formed  in  acrobatic  strength,  and  new 
To  all  the  sad  revealings  of  long  years, 
Can  reach  a  height  of  supernatural  calm. 
Just  watch!    although  so  slight  and  frail  of  build, 
Compared  with  this  Ethiopian  pugilist, 
He  will  be  conqueror  in  the  ring.     Sometimes, 
An  iron  chain  will  break  in  useless  bits, 
When  a   silken   cord   withstands  the   stiffest    strain. 
Whole  tribes  of  saffron  men  fall  down  prostrate, 
Before  a  chieftain  led  by  heavenly  fire, 
Who  uses  just  a  film  of  ether's  life, 
To  prove  his  origin  divine,  supreme! 

HELGOLIA.     You  talk  more  like  a  moonstruck  visionary 
Than  a  general  of  stern  command  and  fame. 
Perhaps  you  dare  to  lose,  then  what  is  the  price? 
Remember  once  before  I  won  a  bet, 
Against  your  boasted  army  discipline. 
Beware  you  try  again! 

112 


CUMMINGS.     It   was   not   proved! 
I  do  not  think  Fantasia  kissed  the  lad! 

HEi^GOLIA.     You    change    your    front!     Ycur    court     said 
otherwise! 

BOWPOINT.     The  secrets  of  our  martial  game  are  safe, 
From  curious  questioners  such  as  you,  my  friend. 

(There  is  a  fanfare  of  trumpets,  and  Davis,  a  three  hun 
dred  pound  negro,  and  his  trainers  take  the  ring.  Bowpoint, 
Helgolia  and  Cummings  withdraw.  The  audience  arrange? 
itself.  Enter  the  referee,  Erin  and  Heinz.) 

DAVIS.     I  think  that  this  will  prove  an  easy  sport. 

HEINZ.     Look   out!    good   luck   withdraws   from   those   who 
boast. 

ERIN.     And  now  to  make  my  mind  an  avenging  blade; 
To  strike  dark  Knolles  where  he  stands  in  crime, 
With  wicked  thoughts  intent  upon  my  death; 
While  with  my  arms  like  swaying  levers   moved 
By  pulleys  wrought  in  iron-work  of  hell, 
I  beat  this  ugly  savage  to  the  ground. 

(The  signal  to  begin  is  given.) 

ERIN    (advancing).     Marcus!    behold   a   gladiator  at   bay! 

(Erin  and  Davis  engage  for  a  few  moments  in  fierce  strife. 
Knolles  and  Dollama  lean  over  the  rail  of  the  ring  with  an 
expression  of  intense  malignity  and  hate.) 

REFEREE.     Time! 

(Davis  and  Erin  both  panting  draw  aside.  Erin  fixes  a 
glance  of  great  deviltry  on  Knolles.) 

ERIN.     Juan   Knolles,  you  must   surrender  now! 

(Knolles  cringes.) 

ERIN.     Before  I  put  an  end  to  this  dull  clod, 
I  want  to  see  you  cringe  yet  more,  down,  DOWN! 

KNOLLES.     Great  God!     I  can  no  longer  will  your  death: 
But  rather  seem  to  wlil  my  own;   I  faint! 
Dollama,  perhaps  our  faith  is  wrong,— perhaps, — 

DOLLAMA.     Knolles,  do  not  say  your  will  is  gone? 

KNOLLES.     My  will  is  gone. — I   see,— I   see, — it's  black. 

(Knolles  sinks  down  at  the  edge  of  the  ring.) 

REFEREE.     Time! 

DOLLAMA.     A  moment  more!      This  man  is  ill. 

KNOLLES    (faintly).     I    surrender — now — you    see    me   die 
— go  on! 

INGRAM    (rushing   to   the   front).     Is   he   so   ill? 

DOLLAMA.     He   has    willed    himself    to   die! 

INGRAM    (bending  over   Knolles).     His   soul   has  just   this 
moment  passed  in  flight! 

(The  officers  and  rabble  crowd  around.  There  is  a  scene 
of  great  confusion,  scrambling  and  shouting.) 

CUMMINGS.     Order!     Disperse!      This    death    ends    all    to 
night ! 

113 


HELGOLIA.     No!    No!     the    fight    goes    on, — we    have    not 

proved 
That  Erin  is  the  stronger  man! 

ERIN.     Not  yet! 

Come  forward  Davis,  we  will  try  once  more. 
Order!      Stand  back!      The  fight  goes  on  again! 

(The  crowd  quiet  down  as  if  by  magic.  Doiiama  stands 
painfully  poised  over  the  body  of  Knolles. ) 

ERIN.     It  seems  to  me  this  canvas  lifts  and  swirls 
As  if  by  a  mighty  hand,  upheld   at  will. 
It  could  at  will  be  hurled  through  endless  space, 
To  make  a  parachute  for  human  clowns; 
And   through   its   barrier,  dense,  opaque  and   thick, 
I  seem  to  see  the  condescending  stars, 
Shine  out   with  beams  that  turn  our  electric  lights, 
To  feeole  flickering  ancient  candle  fire. 
Davis,  we  fight! 

(Davis  .advances  and  strikes  Erin  a  foul  on  the  abdomen. 
Erin  reels,  but  picks  himself  up.  They  grapple  fiercely  for  a 
few  moments,  each  man  bleeding  profusely  in  the  face  and 
on  the  chest.  Finally,  Davis  bellows  like  a  wounded  ox  and 
falls  like  a  lump  of  jelly  at  Erin's  feet.  The  crowd  cheer 
and  bravo  wildly.) 

HEINZ.     Erin  is  the  champion! 

(Tableaud:  Bowpoint  and  Cummings  regard  Helgolia  with 
triumphant  malice.  Eraser  and  Ingram  press  forward  to 
Erin.  Davis  is  hissed  and  taken  off  the  stage.  Dollama  re 
gards  Erin  with  panic-stricken  admiration.) 

INGRAM,     Erin,  you  are  a  soldier  of  white  heat, 
Far  braver  than  old  Hector  we  admired, 
And  -with  a  nerve  Achilles   could  not   boast. 

ERIN.     Ingram!    the  man  I  loved  above  the  rest! 
Ingram,  my  comrade,  friend,  my  brother-heart, — 
You  like  me  in  this  ring  of  blood  and  pain, 
When  you  despised  me  in  my  dungeon  depths! 
Then  friendship  takes  the  track  of  loud  success, 
And  never  walks  in  pity's  humble  path! 

ERASER.     Your    reproach    cuts    through    our    hearts:     you 

know  our  rule. 
We  took  the  path  we  were  compelled  to  take. 

BOWPOINT    (approaching   Erin).     I   thought,   it    better   you 

should  fight  alone, 

Than  with  assistance  from  our  sentiment. 
The  officers  all  loved  you  far  too  much, 
For  their  own  good  and  yours:   you  had  to  go. 

ERIN.     General,   you    are    too    stern   for    mortal    man — 
Even  though  I  walked  with  feet  in  iron  shod, 
I  still  would   stumble  on  the  jagged   stones, 
Of  the  sharp  declivity  you  mark  for  me. 

114 


FRASER.     Your  task  is  done:  we  love  your  noble  strife. 

ERiN    (bitterly).     And   take   my   service   as   your   own   per 
haps? 

Not   yet !      I  cannot  feel  at  one  with  you, 
While  this  day's  foul  heat  is  heavy  on  my  head, 
While  my  life-blood,  spilled  for  you,  in  unstanched  streams. 
Dies   this   disgraceful   field;    while   Knolles'   corpse, 
With   upturned   ghastly   face  accuses   me. 

BOWPOINT.     Juan   Knolles  had  already   Hved   too  long, 
The  hangman's  noose  has  inched  to  strangle  him. 

ERIN.     I  willed  his  death  that  you  might  live,  my  friends, 
Although   you   were  no  friends   to  me,   but  foes. 
A  Voice  sweet  calling  in  my  lonely  gloom, 
Bade  me  be  just  to  you  whate'er  you  did. 
I  seemed  to  see  some  reason  in  your  wrath: 
While  Knolles  and  Dollama  without  cause 
Sought  to  fill  our  army  burial-grounds 
With   regiments  too  good  to  stuff  the  earth. 

INGRAM.     You    have    delivered    us    from    the    Fiend    full 

armed, 

Who  climbing  up  from  hissing,  roaring  flames, 
And  assuming  human   shape,  had  tried  his  best, 
To    annex    poor    earth    to    his    dominions    dark. 

HELGOLIA.     I   wager   still   young   Erin   falls   to-night," 
When  Fantasia  holds  him  in  her  soothing  arms. 

JONES   (to  Helgolia).     My  long  suffering  at  your  hands  is 

almost  done: 
You   could   not   do   what   Gabriel   has   done   to-night. 

HELGOLIA.     Our  marriage  was  the  price  of  Erin's  kiss;- 
You  cannot  wipe  away  that  moment's  lust. 

(Enter  Fantasia.) 

FANTASIA.     He  did  not  kiss  me  then  and  never  will. 
It  was  a  lie  to  help  Helgolia's  cause. 
But  now  I  hate  her  worse  than  his  pure  heart. 
Such  women  as  I  must  always  cling  to  men. 
And  never  trust  a  woman's  vicious  schemes. 
The   purse   to-night    is   fifteen    thousand    dollars, — 

ERIN.     Fantasia,   you   may   claim   it   when   you    will! 

HELGOLIA.  HE  BOUGHT  YOU  THEN! 

FANTASIA.     I   tell  the  holy   truth  — 
Gabriel  Erin,  CHAMPION,  IS  FREE! 

JONES.     HELGOLIA,   you   have   lost   the  game   at   last! 

BOWPOINT.     Erin,  brave  lad,  you  shall  join  us  once  again 

ERIN.     Not  now, — a  faintness  grows  upon  my  heart. 

CUMMINGS.     We  will  be  ready  when  you  call— good-night. 

(The  crowd  has  been  clowly  filtering  out  during  this  con 
versation.  The  officers  all  go,  followed  reluctantly  by  Hel 
golia.  Two  guards  take  out  the  body  of  Knolles.  Exit  Fan 
tasia  by  herself.  Fantasia  blows  a  kiss  to  Erin  as  she  goes 

115 


out.     Erin  stands  lost  in  thought.     The  lights  are  turned  low. 
Finally  Dollama  and  Erin  remain  alone  on  the  stage.) 

DO  LLAMA.     Young    man,    I    am    convinced    at    last. 

ERIN.     Of  what? 

DOLLAMA.     Your  title  won  in  grimmest  battle-fray, 
To  be  a  king. 

ERIN.     A  king?     I  am  so  poor, 
I  stand  bereft  of  everything  but  pride. 
My   sufferings  hang  about   me   like   wet   rags, 
That  do  not  clothe  the  shivering  bones  and  skin, 
Of  the  outcast  beggar  in  the  winter  snow. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  1  call  my  own. 

DOLLAMA.     If  you  are  poor,  remember  I  am  rich; 
Ju?t  come  with  me  to  that  enchanted  land 
Beyond  the   Pacific's  mighty,  smooth  expanse; 
The  land  where  the  gods  as  in  primeval  days 
Confide  to  men  the  secrets  of  their  throne. 
I  think  you  worth  the  fight  I  have  made  for  you;  — 
The  death  of  many  feeble  men  at  arms, 
Poor  Bitter  in  his  last  extremity, 
And  even  this  mad  tool  of  mine  you  killed. 
Gabriel  Erin,  true  and  brave,  you  are  mine! 

(He  stretches  out  his  bony,  claw-like  hands  as  if  to  clasp 
Erin,  who  springs  back  with  a  cry.) 

ERIN.     No,  Dollama,  No!     I  am  my  own! 
However  poor  and  weak  and  maimed  I  am, 
Although  my  every  pore  bleeds  agony, 
I  still  can  reign  supreme  o'er  my  own  soul. 
The  winding  ways  you  choose  are  not  my  ways, — • 
Nor  do  I  wander  in  your  wizard  sphere. 
I  do  not  kill  except  to  save  the  lives 
That,  thousands  deep,  destroyers  aim  to  slay. 
I  do  not  think  like  you  the  race  runs  out 
From  cowardice  and  fear,  but  rather  hope 
We  are  upon  the  brink  of  some  new  leap 
Towards  revealing  of  our  power  divine. 

DOLLAMA.     You    and    I    together    found    that    hope! 

ERIN.     You  would  take  from  me  my  tragic  victory? 

DOLLAMA.     I  love  you, — I  have  won  you, — come  with  me! 

ERIN.     Why  then  Dollama  if  you  take  this  tone, 
I  must  fight  again!     With   the  battle-rage   still   strong 
Upon  me,  with  nerves  that  spring  to  worst  a  foe, 
And  sinews  like  a  constrictor's  mighty  coils 
That  crush  an  attacking  enemy,  I  stand 
Prepared  to  beat  you  dead  at  once!     Come  on. 

(He  makes  the  movement  of  attack.) 

DOLLAMA.     Mercy!     I  would  not   lie  in   Knolles'  place! 
Release  your  vengeance, — I  will  follow  you. 

ERIN.     I  do  not  follow  you  and  do  not  wish 

116 


That  you  should  follow  me, — I  must  be  alone! 

DOLLAMA.     They  will  make  you  king,  please  let  me  come 
with   you! 

(He  kneels  at  Erin's  feet.) 

ERIN.     No!    Dollama,   no!     I  walk   alone. 

DOLLAMA.     Erin,  I  pray  you  let  me  come, — oh,  I  beg! 

ERIN.     Once  more  I  say,  I  have  the  battle-rage! 
You  leave  me  to  myself  or  else  I  fight. 

DOLLAMA.     Ungrateful!     Fierce!     I  served  you  to  no  end! 

(Exit  Dollama.) 

ERIN    (alone).     What   devious,   strange,   uncommon   course 

I  take; 

So    set   apart   from   other    mortal   men, 
It  seems  I  have  a  fate  accursed  or  blessed, 
I  know  not  which;   remote  and  weird  and  odd 
The  goal  of  royal  height   they  picked   for  me 
On  that  portentous  day  upon  the  field 
When  Ingram  spurred  my  young  ambition  on. 
Oh  then  I  was  so  young  the  world  spread  out 
l.il'e  a  vision  painted  for  my  sole  delight. 
And  now  I  am  so  old  with  futile  work, 
That   same  sad  sting  of  base  ingratitude, 
The  smarting  of  my  nerves  with  tax  and  strain 
Beyond  the  power  of  any  human  will 
To  bear  without  a  mad   rebellious   shriek 
Against  a  God  who  lets  such  misery  be, 
I  scarcely  have  the  will  to  try  to  live. 
A  faintness  numbs  my  brain — my  breath  is  slow — 
Alive  or  dead,  a  stricken  human  beast, 
Or  a  soul  divorced  from  this  too  suffering  clay, 
Will   heaven   atone  for  all  my   wrong  and   woe? 
How  long  I  tried  to  balance  Justice's  scales. 
How  much  I  wished  to  see  the  world  go  right! 
And  yet  degraded  in  the  slaughter  house, 
I  am  no  better  than  a  bull  that  is  gored 
By  the  furious  onset  of  the  butcher  tribe. 
Will  Heaven  atone? 

(A  guard  enters  and  turns  out  the  lights  one  by  one.  Erin 
sinks  half  reclining  on  the  ground,  with  his  head  buried  in 
his  hands  in  the  deepest  dejection.  The  guard  seeing  him 
thus,  leaves  one  jet  feebly  flickering,  then  after  glancing  a 
moment  apprehensively  at  Erin,  he  steals  out  on  tip-toe.) 

A  VOICE.     Your  empire  waits  for  you! 
Do  not  fear  but  claim  your  own  at  once. 

ERIN.  Great  Spirit, — God, — you  come  to  me  once  more, — 
What  dream  is  this?  What  empire  shall  I  claim? 

THE  VOICE.     The  one  beneath  the  cold  gray  northern  sky. 

ERIN.     But  whoe'er  Thou  be  who  speakest  thus, 
Thou  Knowest  that  I  yearn  for  rest,  for  death. 

117 


THE  VOICE.     Claim  your  empire  first! 
ERIN.     Before  I  die! 

(Half    reclining,    an    expression    of   great    exaltation    come? 
over  his  face  upon  which  the  light  shines.) 
CURTAIN. 

ACT  5.  (A  few  months  later.  Scene:  A  principality  in 
Alaska.  In  the  background,  snow-covered  mountains,  against 
which  is  outlined  a  white  brick  building  built  like  a  castle 
and  illuminated  with  so  many  strings  of  electric  lights  in  full 
blaze  that  it  looks  like  a  palace  of  diamonds.  On  its  summit 
are  floating  two  flags,  the  American  flag  and  a  Crusaders' 
flag  with  a  white  field  and  black  Roman  cross.  It  is  high 
noon,  and  the  sun  is  shinning  with  a  cold,  white  intense 
brilliancy  lighting  up  the  snow  mountains  and  ice-glaciers  as 
the  electricity  lights  up  the  palace.  The  whole  effect  is 
that,  of  a  fairy  snow  scene  in  the  most  dazzling  white.  Mil 
itary  guards  in  a  uniform  of  white  and  silver  are  standing  at 
the  castle  gates.  Enter  Fraser  and  Jones,  also  in  the  white 
uniform,  full  dress  with  much  gold  and  silver  braid.) 

FRASER.  We  are  so  trained  to  view  of  hideous  things, 
I  hardly  can  believe  this  scene  is  real. 

JONES.     It   is   like  the   Christmas  pantomime   I   loved 
In  childhood's  wildly   dreaming  distant  days. 
I  thought  that  army   life  would  be  like  that, — 
An  effort  and  a  strain,  but  oh  such  sport, 
Such  clash  of  sparkling  arms,  such  ceremony, 
Such  joyous  hunting  grounds  with  Glory's  flag, 
Streaming  bold  and  sweet  above  our  heads, 
Like  pinions  of  the  morning  in  the  East. 
And  some  where  in  the  midst  of  chase  and  war, 
I  thought  a  lovely  girl  would  stoop  to  me, 
With  worship  for  the  battles  I  had  won, 
And  all  the  brave,  fond  love  of  a  soldier  maid. 
I  married   Helgolia  Crook! 

FRASER.     You  are  divorced? 

JONES.     Divorced,  oh  yes,  but  weakened  and  ashamed, 
From   that    unprecedented    interlude; 
She  reversed  our  sex,  made  me  the  weaker  thing, 
The  woman  dependent  on  a   stronger  arm, 
Against  her  will  of  more  than  normal  man. 

FRASER.     Erin  delivered  you  and  us  from  her. 
He  sent  Dollama  back  to  his  strange  land, 
Where  magic  thrives  in  sooty  swamps  pressed  down 
Beneath  the  forests  where  the  world  began. 
Juan  Knolles'  dust  is  in  our  own  grave  yard. 
Poor  Bitter  died  and  hundreds  of  .our  men, 
But  we  survive, — we  can  begin  again. 

JONES.     We  owe  so  much  to  Erin, — it  makes  us  small 

118 


To  lean  entirely  on  his  youthful  arm. 

Yet  he  alone  had  earnestness  enough 

To  plunge  ahead  and  beat  upon  those  walls 

Of  iron  prejudice  which  ages  long 

Have  held  the  world  like  a  captive  animal. 

It  was  as  if  some  horrid  cataclysm 

Had  unfolded  to  our  gaze  the  devil's  shop 

Where  monsters  of  the  night  are  formed  and  fed; 

Orientals  claiming  that  our  race  had  sunk 

Until  it  verged  upon  the  monkey  tribe; 

And  women  threatening  to  extinguish  men. 

I  shudder  to  review  the  path  we  have  come. 

FRASER.     We   have   reached   the  top   at    lasf. — we  have   a 

king, 

Carved  by  us  from  marble  white  as  ice; 
And  proved  of  justice  firm,  unflinching  true. 
Erin  is  just  because  he  must   be  just. 
He  cannot  break  the  law  of  his  own  heart. 
Now  he  has  won  from  us  the  rank  supreme, 
Your  dream  of  martial  splendor  and  delight, 
May  yet  be  realized.     We  are  here  today 
For  something  new  to  this  sad  century, — • 
A  king  arisen  from  the  lowest  ranks. 
In  single  combat, — the  hardest  test  of  all, 
He  has  been  found  invincible,  untouched! 
How  many  times  he  has  o'erleapt  the  chasm 
Of  grim  inviting  Death,  whose  ghostly  hands 
Have  stretched  in  vain  to  stop  his  beating  heart. 

(Enter  Bowpoint,  Cummings  and  suite.  They  all  wear  the 
magnificent  dazzling  white  uniform  with  silver  and  gold  lace.) 

CUMMINGS.     The  coronation  comes  this  way  at  once. 
Have  you   seen  the  crown? 

(Enter  Sergeant  Sweeney  and  Sergeant  Heinz,  with  a  white 
velvet  cushion  on  which  is  a  heavy  crown  of  gold,  set  with 
diamonds  and  pearls.) 

JONES.     It  hurts  my  feeble  eyes. 

BOWPOINT.     Although  for  all  my  rank  and  senior  years, 
I  take  a  second  place,  I  am  content. 
For  he  who  wins  the  rank  is  one  of  us. 
No  daring  man  from  civil  life  could  gain 
Distinction  in  the  fields  of  pain  we  chose. 
Our  discipline  gave  forth  its  unequaled  light, 
There  in  the  ring  against  the  savage  brute 
Untamed  before;    and  only  many  blows 
Could  bring  about  such  fortitude  as  his;  — 
Where  poverty  and  shame  and  suffering  hung 
With  nothing  on  the  other  side  but  pride. 
My  men,  the  army  is  alone  today, 
As  it  never  was  before  in  our  long  run 

119 


From  the  nation's  infancy  to  this  far  reach. 

No  woman  with  her  foul  impertinent  skirts 

Is  in  this  land  for  many  miles  around. 

The  Amazons  have  been  overmatched  by  us, 

Their  nerve  too  flimsy  for  our  champion. 

The  putrid  kind  have  bent  in  homage  low 

Before  a  power  they  could  not  understand. 

And  with  the  fall  of  their  dark  influence 

Fall  many  other  dark  intrigues  they  formed 

Among  the  politicians'  scheming  hoide, 

Asia  new  awakened  from  her  sloth 

Of  centuries  of  quiet  sleepiness, 

Sent  her  besf  of  men  with  armament 

Of  studied  guile,  with  -hafts  unseen  to  pierce 

The  front  of  our  modern  courage  and  defense. 

And  yet  today  we  find  oui  selves  alone. 

No  breath  is  stirring  in  the  northern  breeze,— 

The  sun  shines  calm  and  still  and  white  benign 

As  if  approving  all  our  battle  plan. 

The  king  comes  now! 

(Enter  a  military  band  playing  "Onward,  Christian  Sol 
diers."  They  are  followed  by  a  company  of  infantry  of  tall 
picked  men  all  wearing  the  white  uniform,  and  in  addition  to 
the  insignia  of  the  other  officers  wearing  a  crusader's  cross  of 
diamonds.  They  form  at  attention  and  point  their  lances 
upward  in  the  direction  of  the  northwest.  The  sun  shines  on 
the  glint  of  the  steel,  making  a  particularly  dazzling  tableau. 
Enter  Erin  from  the  northwest.  His  uniform  is  of  white  satin 
and  silver,  with  a  breastplate  of  orders,  the  crusaders'  cross 
in  diamonds,  the  Order  of  the  Loyal  Legion,  etc.,  etc.  His 
left  hand  is  on  his  sword,  his  right  on  his  heart.  He  is  accom 
panied  by  Ingram  and  two  or  three  other  officers  of  his  pri 
vate  suite.) 

(The  band  ceases  playing  and  Bowpoint  steps  forward.) 
BOWPOINT.     Gabriel  Erin,  you  have  won  a  prize 
Never  given  before  within  our  army  ranks. 
Once  a  lieu  tenant  of  the  lowest  grade, 
You  were  expelled  on  charges  we  knew  were  false, 
And  left  to  fight  your  way  as  men  who  fought 
In  early  days  of  savage  life,  alone, 
Without  a  clan  or  corps  you  could  call  your  own, 
Without  a  hint  of  aid,  reward  or  hope. 
You  had  a  chance  to  rebel, — the  men  were  yours, — 
They  loved  your  youth  and  zealous  work  with  them. 
You  did  not  yield  but  bore  the  disgrace  alone. 
You  have  won  your  spurs,  and  more, — there  is  the  crown. 
It  is  a  bauble,  a  symbol  of  your  rank, 
Yet  put  it  on  your  head,  and  let  it  mean 
All  the  love,  that  daring  not  to  speak, 

120 


Lies  hidden   in  our  stern  and   stormy  breasts. 

(Erin  steps  forward,  and  looks  at  the  crown,  but  does  not 
put  it  on.) 

ERIN.     Dear  General,  and  all  my  friends  assembled  here, 
This  is  the  sweetest  moment  of  my  life; 
And  yet  its  very  sweetness  pierces  through 
To  some  great  pulse  of  pain  that  sobs  and  sighs 
As  if  the  sorrows  of  the  whole  sad  world 
Were  being  told  in  endless  lamentation. 
1  trained  myself  to  work  without  reward, 
Just  for  the  work's  own  sake  and  just  for  you. 
I  threw  aside  as  base  a  goal  like  this, 
And  yet  somehow  I  could  not  live  alone. 
I  seemed  to  shrivel  into  nothingness, 
Without  your  comradeship.     I  wanted  friends! 
The  thread  that  held  me  to  this  mortal  life 
Was  sometimes  strung  so  finely,  filmy,  thin, 
It  seemed  that  it  would  snap  at  whisper's  breath 
Of  either  praise  or  blame.     I  stood  prepared 
To  join  those  pale  grey  shades  who  wander  lost 
Between  the  highest  heaven  and  this  cold  earth 
They  left  perhaps  with  no  regret  or  sigh, 
But  left  to  come  again  in  gossamer 
And  draw  the  discontented  to  their  host. 
They  beckoned  me  with  insistence  like  a  song 
That  runs  forever  through  the  tired  brain. 
And  yet  the  thought  of  you  stood  uppermost. 
Should  I  go  and  float  like  them  forever  astray 
In  air  too  thick  for  common  eye  to  pierce, 
Or  should  I  hope  to  come  once  more  to  you? 

INGRAM.     Gabriel,  you  are  here  with  us  today; 
You  will  forgive  the  wrong  we  have  done  to  you, 
Now  you  know  the  reason  of  our  acts. 
We  wished  to  see  you  where  you  are  today, 
Upon  a  throne  of  lustrous,  dazzling  white. 
The  crown  awaits, — forward!      Salute  the  king! 

(The  officers  and  men  present,  including  General  Bowpoint, 
salute,  and  the  sergeants  advance  with  the  crown.) 

ERIN.     That  crown  looks  heavy  and  yet  perhaps  it  is  light 
Compared  with  other  weights  upon  my  brow. 
A  Voice  bade  me  be  just  to  you,  my  friends, 
Ingram,  I  must  tell  you  my  command, — it  was, — 
"Though  they  burn  and  slay  you  still  be  just." 
You  will  be  that  in  face  of  every  foe. 
The  word  is  good,  and  yet  it  seems  to  me, 
I  am  weak  to  feel  so  full  of  love  towards  you. 
It  is  not  human  to  forgive  too  much, — 
To  pardon  every  wrong, — to  crave  no  prize, — 
How  white  the  sun!     How  white  the  lights!     And  YOU! 

121 


There  is  no  woman  here, — and  no  disgrace, — • 

L  think  we  change, — not   as  Dollama   thought, 

Towards  small  frail  baser  kind  of  horrid  brute, 

But  towards  a  better  life  than  yet  the  world 

Has   known,  towards   some   white  goal   within   the  sky. 

(He  staggers  slightly  and  puts  his  hand  convulsively  on 
his  heart. ) 

INGRAM.     Gabriel  Erin, — take  your  crown, — we  wait. 

ERIN.     The  crown,— I  cannot  see  it  now, — nor  you, 
You   seem  to  fade  from   my  poor  straining  gaze, 
To  melt  into  the  sunbeams'  brilliant  glare. 
It  is  all  so  white, — -you  move  like  shapes  of  snow 
That  will  dissolve  with  the  breaking  of  the  Spring. 
So  many   men,   yet  none  to   speak   to  me! 
Why   there  you   go,  the  regiments  marching  by 
Like  phantoms  of  my  brain!     Ah  there  they  are! 

(An  expression  of  rapt  exaltation  comes  over  his  features. 
He  looks  up  to  the  sky  and  pulling  his  sword  from  its  sheath, 
points  ecstatically  upward.) 

ERIN.     There  are  the  other  troops  who  march  above, — 
The  sentinels  of  the  Olympian  outpost  guard, 
The  ghosts  who  call  to  me, — they  are  dressed  in  pearl. 
Ingram, — I  hope  the  goal  is  won  forever, — 
"Though  they  burn  and  slay  you,  still  be  just." 

(He  drops  his  swords  and  sinks  back  in  Ingrain's  arms. 
There  is  a  moment  of  intense  silence,  broken  by  Sergeant 
Sweeney,  who  gives  a  prolonged  wail  and  lets  the  crown 
drop.) 

BOWPOINT      (stepping  forward  and  looking  at  Erin's  still 
features  as  he  lies  in  Ingram's  arms).    The  king  is  dead. 
Long  live, — oh  eternal  God 
In  Heaven  above,  we  have  no  other  king! 

(The  officers  drop  their  lances  and  uncover  their  heads  as 
the  curtain  slowly  descends.) 

CURTAIN. 


122 


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